


The Way Back Home

by cfcureton



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), olicity - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Island, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfcureton/pseuds/cfcureton
Summary: When Moira Queen agreed to pay the ransom money to get her beautiful boy back she was told to keep silent and wait for instructions.She’s heard nothing for a week.Meanwhile, halfway across the country Felicity Smoak meets a homeless man with beautiful blue eyes.And no memories.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s SO good to see you out again, Moira.”

Moira Queen speared the perfect amount of lettuce off her salad plate with delicate ease and then paused to give her lunch date a regal smile. Bunny Zobrowski’s most distinguishing feature—besides the new breasts—was her penchant for overemphasizing her modifiers. But a gala committee was a gala committee, and this year her co-chair was Bunny. And her breasts.

“I’m sure these last few months have been JUST awful, losing poor Robert to a heart attack like that.”

Bunny’s eyes dropped to her own salad, waiting to see if she’d opened the door wide enough to get Moira to comment on the rumors running rampant in every club and boardroom in the city. The matriarch of the Queen family acknowledged her own pain and suffering with a noble tip of her head but spoke not a word. It would take more skill than Bunny Zobrowski possessed to get her to editorialize on Robert being with his 24-year old mistress when it happened (he was), and whether or not his heart had given out in the middle of sex (it hadn’t; she’d asked the woman in question herself and the coroner had confirmed it).

They finished lunch an hour later and parted ways—with preliminary gala details nailed down and a list apiece of assigned duties—and even then Moira kept the cool exterior in place, though the tremor in her hands had threatened to expose her and her silent phone burned like a hot coal in the pocket of her trench. She held herself still, even in the relative privacy of the back seat of the limousine, because no one could know.

No one could know.

The phrase swirled in her head the rest of the day and chased her to bed early, settling in beside her on the pillow where once upon a better time Robert Queen’s head had lain, to torment her for the night. She finally allowed herself a moment of hand wringing.

She’d agreed to give them the money and they had responded that she should wait for instructions. But that had been a week ago today, with no further response. And no Oliver. No cops, they’d said. No inquiries. In all the world she alone carried around the knowledge that Oliver Queen had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. His life depended on his mother’s silence and cooperation, Moira believed that with every fiber of her being, but her famous resolve was rubbed raw with worry and fraying at the edges.

Above all, Thea couldn’t know. Not after the suffering she’d just gone through, losing her father. Already she was questioning her brother’s whereabouts, ten days after his impromptu trip to party at the Super Bowl, and the lies were getting harder to tell.

Dawn arrived before sleep did; Moira dragged herself from bed with unshed tears burning her throat and fatigue clawing at her guts. Another day. She would give it another day and then she’d have to seek help.

But who could she possibly ask?

——————————————————————-

Felicity Smoak hated Mysteries. Particularly, at the moment, CHI to CLO. She sighed heavily and tried very hard not to swear.

“Something’s screwed up in the tagging system. Nothing comes up right.” She passed the wand in front of the line of books again and watched the tablet closely. “It looks like every barcode is off by one number. We’ll have to start over, re-tag them.”

“Completely?! That’s 25,000 books!” Speaking of swearing, she’d never heard Barry Allen say a bad word, but at the moment he really looked tempted. Felicity pushed up off the floor and handed him the wand.

“Hopefully just this section, but we’ll have to see. Keep checking from here on.” She nodded toward the Circulation Desk. “Cisco looks swamped.”

Felicity loved her library job. Like LOVED it loved it. First of all, BOOKS, her first friends and constant companions throughout her lonely life. But her love wasn’t just for nerdy reasons. No two days here were ever exactly alike. There were problems to solve, questions to research, and patrons to help. The patrons might be her favorite part of all.

Donna Smoak did not let a phone conversation go by without worrying about her baby girl, who had accepted a full ride to MIT and graduated with a double major in computer-something-or-other only to end up in downtown Central City—and not the swanky part of downtown, either—to work in a library. Felicity paused to gaze up at the soaring, light-filled space spread out in front of her and wished for the thousandth time that she could afford to fly her mother from Vegas to the Midwest to let her see for herself.

Sure, this wasn’t one of the wealthier neighborhood branches full of stay-at-home moms and retirees learning conversational Italian before their big trip in the fall. This was a poor community of small, tired houses and sketchy apartment buildings. The public computers were occupied by folks filling out job applications online and signing up for food stamps. A lot of them were there to pass the time of day streaming movies, or meeting with their parole officer, or being supervised by a social worker while they visited their kids.

And a few used the library to keep warm in the middle of winter because they had no other place to go.

As if he’d been reading her mind one of their regulars shuffled in with his signature trash bag of worldly goods, his hair sticking out in fifty different directions and trying to hide a nasty sounding cough.

“Morning, Mr Wilson.”

He waved a hand wearing a fingerless glove in greeting. “Miss Felicity. How’re you this morning?” Sometimes she thought she detected a hint of an accent in his gravelly voice and made a mental note to ask about it one of these days. When the phone wasn’t ringing.

She took the call while he settled into a chair near an outlet and set about charging his phone. Without preamble the caller asked if there was a spy satellite currently watching his house and her eyes flicked to the phone’s ID screen.

“Hi, Mr Johnston.” A little further down the desk Cisco offered her a sympathetic eye roll and she grinned. The competition to NOT answer his calls was fierce; she was clearly off her game.

Ten minutes, countless reassurances, and four different Google searches later he hung up without a goodbye and she couldn’t help smiling. Bye, Mr Johnston.

Felicity took a moment to scan the space around her. Barry was still busy running the scanner wand over the bookshelves and Cisco had stepped away from the desk to check the outside book drop. About half the computers were in use, some by patrons she recognized, some not. A couple of them were kids, here when they should obviously be in school.

Mr Wilson was still in his chair, head dropped forward in a way that told her he’d fallen asleep. When Cisco got back she’d have to go wake him up; there weren’t many rules in the library—you didn’t even have to be that quiet anymore—but it definitely wasn’t a place where you could take a nap.

She noticed a figure in the chair next to him. He must’ve come in while she was busy Googling spy satellites. Felicity could only see the back of him from her angle, but there was an old red Jansport backpack on the floor next to him with a fleece blanket spilling out the top. The blanket caught her eye because it was baby blue and covered with clouds and rainbows, though the shoulders of the man who had carried it in were pretty broad and manly looking. It was a curious choice, but then again the homeless didn’t often get much of that.

“What’d ya say?” Cisco was back, his arms full of books and DVDs.

“What?”

“You were just mumbling something about not getting a choice,” he clarified helpfully.

Felicity shook her head. “Oh, um, nothing. No filter. I’m gonna go wake up Mr Wilson.”

She approached him from the side, partly so she wouldn’t scare him and partly so she could get a better look at his companion, whose eyes darted up to hers as he half-rose like he was expecting her to make them leave. Felicity smiled gently and held up a hand.

“Don’t get up. You’re fine. I just—“ she indicated Mr Wilson’s faintly snoring form for explanation.

The man’s eyes flicked to him and back to her. “It’s hard to sleep.” He stopped short of saying “in the shelter” but she knew what he meant. She nodded a couple of times before laying a gentle hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Hey, Mr Wilson.” He started awake with a grunt, his eyes wild for just a second. He coughed.

“Sorry, darlin’.”

“I know.” She patted his shoulder as he shifted around in the chair. She smiled again at the other man and finally noticed how remarkably blue his eyes were. It made her blink in surprise.

“I’ll keep him awake,” he promised. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re welcome here. Really.”

He seemed to accept the reassurance; something in his posture eased just a bit and he nodded once.

——————————————————————

An hour later she was about to take her lunch break when he approached the desk, his eyes on the floor.

“Hi,” she offered brightly. “How can I help?”

He was tall, and wearing dirty jeans and a navy blue pea coat that it was obvious he’d slept in. He looked extremely uncomfortable and completely lost.

“Where’s your...card catalog?”

Felicity stared at him for a second before she realized her mouth had fallen open. Her teeth clicked together in surprise and she blinked rapidly.

“We, uh, keep it all on computer now.”

He looked horrified at his mistake.

“I can show you, if you like,” she went on quickly. “What are you looking for?”

He’d been staring at the desk but he looked up at her suddenly. Those eyes, though. Felicity swallowed hard.

“Nothing. Never mind. Thanks.” As he started to turn away she scrambled after a small plastic container on the counter.

“Here. If you want to use the computer, just take one of these and put the code on it into any one that’s open. It’s free,” she added hopefully. The man studied her hand holding out the slip of paper like he was afraid of her, but finally took it from her fingers, careful not to touch.

Felicity watched him walk away as he studied the paper and then scanned the line of computers and the patrons sitting there, weighing his options.

“Is he new?” Barry asked softly at her shoulder.

“I’ve never seen him before today,” she replied. The man evidently made a decision not to get on a computer because he settled back in to the seat next to Mr Wilson.

“Me either,” Cisco added from his spot further down the desk. “Did you see his coat?”

“What about it?” Barry wrinkled his nose as Felicity nodded.

“It’s designer,” she murmured. “Burberry, I think.”

Cisco shook his head. “Not a homeless guy’s coat, that’s for sure. You going to lunch, Felicity?”

She nodded, but didn’t move right away.

——————————————————————

“The library will be closing in five minutes. Please bring any materials to be checked out to the Circulation Desk at this time.”

“Quittin’ time,” Cisco muttered to no one from his perch at the end of the counter as the recorded message finished. Barry and Felicity had pulled a cart full of Mysteries behind the desk and were sitting on either side of it, meticulously peeling barcodes off the books and replacing them with the corrected sticker. She liked the repetitiveness of the work. It gave her time to ruminate on the newest mystery at the library: The Homeless Man in the Very Expensive Coat.

Next to her Barry snorted. “That should totally be a book title.”

“I said it out loud, didn’t I?” Felicity looked up from her work with a sigh and cracked her neck. He was still there, in the same spot he’d started out the day. His face looked cleaner after a trip to the restroom, but otherwise she hadn’t seen him do anything all day. No sleeping, no eating, no drinking. Her own rumbling stomach told her a guy his size couldn’t go all day without some kind of food.

He and Mr Wilson were beginning to stir with the rest of the patrons readying to leave the library for the evening, so she jumped down from her high-backed stool with a quiet “Be right back” and hustled to her locker in the employee break room. She kept a box of granola bars in there for the days she forgot her lunch, which lately had been about once a week; there was only one left.

“Frack.” She hated to give only the new guy one when Mr Wilson would be there too, but she knew the older man had been on the streets almost a decade; he was pretty wiley about keeping himself fed. Leery of alerting her co-workers that she was about to feed a patron, Felicity walked to the end of the counter as casually as possible with the granola bar clenched in her fist on the far side of her body.

“Hey,” she said softly as he passed. The man only moved his eyes to look at her, wary like a feral cat. “Here.” She held the bar out to him, hoping he’d grab it quick and go before anyone noticed. But he only stared at the offering in her hand.

“Take it, kid. You’re gonna need it,” Mr Wilson growled, and Felicity flashed him a grateful smile. The man’s blue eyes flicked up to hers and she knew immediately this was probably the first food he’d seen all day. He hesitated one more second and then reached out to pluck it from her palm without touching her skin.

“Thanks.” Quiet. Nervous. Grateful.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly. He pulled back then, abruptly, causing his companion to fall back a step. “It’s okay,” she amended, worried he might spook and cause a scene. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Go on,” Mr Wilson said then, but he didn’t mean “and tell her”, which the man must’ve instinctively understood, because he immediately walked on. As she watched him absorb into the crowd working its way to the front door she heard Mr Wilson clear his throat.

“He doesn’t have a name,” he explained awkwardly. Felicity turned her head back to look at the older man curiously. “Not that he can remember, anyway.”

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. “Where’s he from?”

“He doesn’t know that either. Just woke up in an alley, ‘bout a week ago.” Mr Wilson scratched his head in a way that would normally make her keep a safe distance, but at the moment Felicity was too distracted to notice.

“Huh.”

“I’m lookin’ out for him,” he assured her with a gap-toothed smile. She smiled back.

“See you tomorrow?”

He barked a phlegmy laugh. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Mr Wilson trudged out of the library at the tail end of the line of patrons and Cisco followed behind to lock the front doors.

——————————————————————-

“Detective Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Moira Queen.”

There was a heavy pause on his end of the phone.

What can I do for you, Mrs Queen?” Not completely unfriendly; obligated, more like.

“Detective, I have a very sensitive matter I need some assistance with—“

“Is this about your son?” he asked gruffly, cutting her off just as she was working up the courage to say it out loud. For a wild second she thought he already knew about the kidnapping, but how could that be?

“Ye-yes. Yes it is. How did you know?”

There was a laugh—or maybe a snort—over the line. “Because guys like Oliver Queen are always getting themselves into ‘sensitive matters’.”

Moira could almost see his pinkie finger crooked, mocking her, but she held her temper. She had no one else to turn to.

“Detective, could I meet you somewhere? In private?”

Another pause, this one much more curious. Lance cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.” Her heart started beating again. “You like burgers?”

——————————————————————

“Can’t remember, huh?”

“That’s what Mr Wilson said.” Felicity sat on the barstool and dunked her fry in the cup of ketchup she was sharing with John Diggle.

“Don’t eat them all before the fish is done,” his wife admonished them both mildly. Lyla was still in her skirt and blouse from work, but was barefoot and wearing an apron emblazoned with “Grill Daddy” in giant letters on the front.

“You think he has amnesia?”

They both went for the same fry and Diggle flicked it toward her with his index finger before choosing again.

Felicity shrugged as she dunked. “I don’t know. He acted like it was his first day on planet earth.” Lyla glanced back at them over her shoulder. “He can’t be much older than me, but he asked where the card catalog was.”

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Time traveler?”

Felicity shot him a look.

“Sounds like mental illness to me, Felicity,” Lyla warned. “I’d steer clear.”

“Trust me, I know mental illness when I see it. This guy was...lost.”

“Drugs?” John tried again, but Felicity shook her head.

“No. His eyes were...” She remembered the blue of them and momentarily lost her train of thought. “I really don’t think so.”

There was a metallic clang as Lyla took the baking pan of fish out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. “Felicity, grab the peas out of the freezer.” She was met with a collective groan. “Everybody gets a spoonful of peas. My house, my rules.”

“Hey, what about me?” her husband grumbled. Lyla smirked saucily.

“I thought you lived at the firehouse.”

Before he could protest she sidled over and pecked him on the lips. He smacked her lightly on the backside since Felicity wasn’t looking.

Dinner brought other conversation with it, but Felicity found her thoughts circling.

“If he doesn’t have a name, an identity, he can’t get services, right?”

John looked confused at the sudden change in topic but Lyla followed right along.

“Well, besides ER care, no. Not really. I mean, soup kitchen? Sure. And he can make up any old name to get into most shelters, but to collect benefits or get therapy? No.”

Felicity sighed.

“You really think that coat was expensive?”

“I didn’t see a tag, but I’m almost sure. I looked it up on the internet.” She eyed them both before continuing. “Sixteen hundred dollars.”

Lyla’s brows shot up and John let out a low whistle. “You wouldn’t find a coat like that in a shelter drop box,” Lyla conceded. “Even by accident.”

“What should I do?” she asked them as she chased her peas around her plate with her fork.

Lyla sighed. “You’re a librarian, Felicity. Your job isn’t to save him.”

The eyes of her friends were both kind and sympathetic, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

————————————————————-

It was trickier than she’d ever imagined to take a car from the Queen compound without anyone noticing, which is why she was late getting to the...restaurant; the term only loosely applied to this lunch counter with a juke box and a gambling machine. She clutched her purse against her front like a Kate Spade custom shield and let the door close behind her.

Quentin Lance was hunched over at the end of the counter with a cup of coffee and a scowl. He lifted a hand in greeting just as she spotted him and she sighed with relief.

“You think I’d lure you to the bad part of town and then not show?” he asked with a smirk, reading her mind.

“Of course not, Detective.” Moira recognized immediately that her signature aloofness and propriety were not only wildly out of place here but unwelcome. She let her shoulders drop a notch and took a deep breath before hiking herself on to the stool which—she discovered a second too late—swiveled.

Lance snorted into his coffee but managed to hold any other commentary to himself.

“Thank you for meeting with me—“

“What’s Queen done now?” It was a mildly exasperated growl.

Moira gathered herself to say the words out loud for the first time. “He’s been kidnapped and is being held for ransom.”

She wasn’t sure what reaction she’d been expecting, but laughter probably wasn’t on the list.

“What, like, by pirates or somethin’?”

Her mouth set into a hard line. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Detective.”

Lance waved a hand at her. “Sorry, sorry.” He was visibly trying to rearrange his features into a serious expression. “How long has he been missing?”

“It’s been ten days since I received the phone call.”

“Ten—ten days?! Why the hell did you wait so long?”

“They stated explicitly that I couldn’t say anything to anyone. Not the police, not other family members, no one.”

He studied her for a moment. “So why are you telling me now?”

“Because when I told them I have the money they said to wait for instructions. That was a week ago.”

“You’ve heard nothing further for a week.”

“No.”

Lance ran a hand up over his head in thought. “Do you have a record of the phone number they called from?”

“They used Oliver’s phone.”

“Have you tried calling it?”

“I’ve filled up the voicemail.”

He was nodding slowly. “Where was he the last time you know of?”

“He left the first of February with friends to go to the Super Bowl. Central City hosted this year.”

Lance shot her a brief look that made it clear he knew what city had hosted the Super Bowl. “Your boy had tickets to the Super Bowl? Figures.”

“I don’t know that he did, Detective. Many people go just to attend the parties. But if he did go to the game the tickets belonged to a friend.”

“Have you spoken to these ‘friends’?” The word had an emphasis she immediately disliked.

“I—I don’t know their names.”

He rolled his eyes at that, and Moira bristled.

“What are you implying, Detective?”

“Well are you sure this isn’t some prank? That he isn’t sitting in Aruba somewhere, drunk off his ass and yukking it up with the other frat boys?”

Moira swiveled the stool away from him and stood. “Clearly I should’ve known better than to ask for your help. I know my son has a checkered past where your daughters are concerned, but I expected more from a member of the Starling City Police Department. I—“

“Hold on, hold on. Si’down, Mrs Queen.” He flapped a hand at her, annoyance covering his obvious chagrin. She stopped moving but didn’t sit back down.

“Have a cup of coffee,” he sighed. “And let’s start from the beginning.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

_“Olllleeeeeee!!”_

_“Up here!” Oliver shook his head and smiled as he pulled the overnight bag down from the top shelf. “In the closet,” he added when he heard her footsteps on the hardwood floor of his bedroom._

_“Oh good.” She sounded out of breath. “I thought I’d missed you.”_

_“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, Speedy. You know that.”_

_He finished throwing clothes into the bag and carried it out to the bed where his little sister was kneeling._  

_“I got you something,” she said with a bright smile. She was a tiny human being, even at fourteen, and something about the way she carried herself made Oliver think of her as both a child and some kind of immortal fairy princess. He stared for just a second too long and her smile turned frowny._

_“What.”_

_“Nothing. What’d ya get me?”_

_The smile came back and she bounced on her knees a couple of times. “Close your eyes.”_

_“Thea,” he sighed._

_“Close ‘em.”_

_He grinned but did as she commanded. He always had._

_“Okay. Open!”_

_He kept them closed just to tease her further, but when she huffed and slapped his arm he opened them immediately._

_“Surprise!”_

_“What is it?”_

_“It’s a new coat, ya jerk. It took me forever to find the right one.”_

_Oliver chewed the inside of his mouth and squinted. “Is it really me, though?”_

“ _It’s gorgeous, Ollie. And you’ll look amazing in it. Try it on.”_

_He made a noise in his chest that said he wasn’t too sure of her assessment, but stuck an arm out for it anyway._

_“You always dress like a homeless person for these guys weekends. You need something more stylish. Besides,” she added as she smoothed the navy wool across his shoulders, “it took me forever to talk mom into it.”_

_“Expensive, huh?”_

_“Obscenely.” She grinned. “But totally worth it.”_

_He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”_

_“Have a good trip. Bring me a souvenir.” Oliver zipped up the bag and hefted it off the bed with a wink. “And not a stupid rock like the last time, ya jerk!” she yelled at his retreating back. He waved without turning around._

 

——————————————————-

 

“Here comes the fire brigade.” 

 

Cisco only used that terminology when Cooper Seldon was in the building; Felicity’s spine stiffened automatically, but she didn’t move from her spot alphabetizing DVDs. She refused to let him see her rattled. 

 

“Is this where the cool people hang out?” Dig’s voice boomed out over the airy space. She smiled and glanced over at him, making her ponytail whip about. He was leaning forward on the Circulation desk, his biceps on display—despite that fact that it was the dead of winter—in his Central City Fire Department tee shirt. It was impressive. 

 

Behind him, Cooper grinned wolfishly. “It is now.” 

 

Silence greeted him from the employee side of the desk, but he seemed oblivious. “We brought the truck for the kiddies,” he added, overly loud. 

 

“Barry’s just finishing up.” She tipped her head toward the kids corner and the small group of preschoolers more or less paying attention to the picture book about the friendly cartoon fire truck he was reading. Barry finished the last page and closed the book with a sweet smile, and from the corner of her eye Felicity saw Cooper head that way to help round them up. She crossed to the desk to lean against it opposite Diggle. 

 

“That the guy?” he asked under his breath, only his eyes shifting to Mr Wilson and his new friend.

 

“Dewey? Yeah, that’s him,” Cisco answered before Felicity could. His eyes shifted her way when he noticed her incredulous look. “You’re talking about card catalog guy, right? Dewey. Get it?”

 

Felicity glared. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you that story,” she huffed. 

 

Cisco was unfazed. “Whatever. He couldn’t be Homeless Guy forever.” He used air quotes and everything. 

 

Diggle had managed to keep his expression very neutral, but she knew him well enough to see he found the nickname funny. 

 

“You guys,” she warned under her breath. She tried not to watch Cooper leading a gaggle of little kids and their moms—all bundled up in coats—toward the entrance and the waiting fire truck. He had a little boy perched on his shoulders. 

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Barry chastised quietly next to her. “Just ‘cause he’s good with kids...”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured him with palms up and fingers splayed, “there are no thoughts of me with Coop. None.”

 

Once bitten, twice shy. 

 

She ignored any looks the three guys might or might not be giving each other over her head and went to clean up the trail of board books and wooden puzzles the preschoolers had left in their wake. It was quiet now that they were gone; the only sound came from the soft clicking from multiple computer keyboards and an occasional cough from Mr Wilson. When everything was back in its place Felicity made a circuit around the entire library, straightening chairs and picking up trash. As she passed their seats she slowed to smile and exchange pleasantries with the two men. Today the man’s blue eyes stayed on her longer as they spoke, not dropping to the floor as if he was bracing to be told to leave. Or worse. 

 

Dewey, she thought with a glance at the heavens as she moved on. What would Cisco think of next?

 

——————————————————-

 

If anything, Detective Lance looked more uncomfortable in her sitting room than she’d looked in the diner, Moira thought as she paused in the doorway. She’d had a more restful night than she’d experienced in over a week; just the act of unburdening herself to Lance must’ve done it. She straightened her shoulders and put something of a smile on her face before walking into the room. 

 

“I appreciate you meeting me here in the middle of the day, Detective. I wouldn’t want Thea to accidentally stumble on us and start asking questions.”

 

“I understand,” he said gruffly, trying and failing to balance the delicate china cup and saucer in his big hands. He looked like he was next in line for a firing squad. Moira immediately took pity on him and waved a hand to indicate he should set it down and follow her. 

 

Five minutes later they were seated across from each other in the breakfast nook of her giant gourmet kitchen, holding sturdy mugs of coffee over a time-worn round wooden table. 

 

“It belonged to my mother,” she explained with a brief smile when he ran a hand over the well-used surface. “I planned to have it refinished years ago, but these marks have been left behind by generations of my family members.” Moira gazed at the small jagged indentations that had been the beginnings of a small, crude O—back in the days when a young Oliver Queen liked to leave his mark on everything—and felt a lump in her throat. 

 

“It’s better this way,” Quentin finished for her with a grimace that was trying to be a smile. 

 

She nodded and took a deep breath to push away the emotions. “What have you found out?”

 

“Well, I checked flight manifests for all the private jets leaving Starling on February 1st and found the names of Oliver and these so-called friends of his. The jet is owned by the Fuller family. Max was the name on the passenger list. Ring a bell?”

 

Moira nodded twice at her coffee mug. “I know the family in general. I don’t believe I’ve met Max. Were you able to speak to him?”

 

The expression on Lance’s face turned sour. “He was unavailable for comment. I was able to confirm that the jet returned to Starling on Monday the 4th and Oliver’s name was the only one missing from the outbound passenger list.”

 

Moira’s hands were shaking as she set her mug down. “So they just left him behind and somebody grabbed him? Detective, those boys need to be questioned.” She was close to raising her voice.

 

Lance grimaced again, but this time it wasn’t an attempt at a smile. “We have to be delicate about this, Mrs Queen. If we go hauling these kids in and asking questions it’s going to get out who we’re looking for, and there goes your Don’t Ask Don’t Tell agreement. Besides, we don’t know a crime’s been committed yet. If we can’t charge ‘em we can’t make ‘em talk.”

 

Moira’s hands dropped to her lap so she could ball them into fists where he wouldn’t see. “What’s next, Detective?”

 

He rubbed a hand up over his mostly bald head. 

 

“Look. I figure one of two things has happened: Either Queen and his buddies are having a laugh at your expense—“ Moira shook her head adamantly at that—“or somebody legitimately kidnapped him and something’s gone wrong.”

 

“Wrong?” Her voice was faint. 

 

Lance sighed heavily. Shit. “I’ll start calling every hospital and jail in Central City. Discreetly.”

 

——————————————————-

 

Felicity’s Spanish was NOT good, but she managed to help the couple who had come in to print legalization papers without needing to ask Cisco to take over. And anyway, it was good to stretch herself and practice her pronunciation, which was pretty terrible if their pained-yet-encouraging expressions had been anything to go by. 

 

She had picture books to put away in the Juvenile section so she grabbed a stack and headed that direction, passing by her homeless friends and flashing a bright smile. Mr Wilson was occupied sorting his worldly goods out onto the coffee table in front of him but the other man—don’t think it, don’t think it, aargh—Dewey, nodded in greeting. Felicity breezed on by with her arms full of books. 

 

She was awkwardly shelving her second book one handed when the stack in her arms shifted and began to spill onto the floor. She dropped to a crouch to lessen the distance they had to fall but had to let them go, tumbling and sliding onto the colorful ABC rug under her feet. In a second he was there, with those blue eyes, shuffling the books together and stacking them neatly. It surprised and touched her. 

 

“Thanks. I know better than to try to carry so many.”

 

He concentrated on his work, silent. The last book he slid on to the stack caught Felicity’s eye. 

 

“Aw, this is one of my favorites.” She rotated it to face him. The cover was dark; two stick figures—a boy and a little green Martian—stood together on a sliver of moon where a spaceship and an airplane also sat. The title of the book was “The Way Back Home”. She started to give him a synopsis, but stopped when she realized he was staring not at the illustration but at the author’s name. 

 

“Oliver Jeffers. Are you familiar with that author?” she asked. He stared another moment with a wrinkle of concentration on his forehead before shaking his head no. She swiveled her knees to face him and ducked her head to try to get him to look at her. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but Mr Wilson told me you’re having some...memory issues. Is that right?”

 

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. He nodded.

 

“Yes.” It was barely a sound. 

 

“I don’t know much—or anything, actually—about amnesia, but we could get on a computer and search the internet if you like. Get some answers, maybe?”

 

She got a small nod from the man in the very expensive wool coat. She smiled encouragingly.

 

“These books can wait. Let’s go see what we can find.”

 

———————————————————

 

There were three of them holed up in the crummy basement apartment: Tool, Gummy, and Ratchet. Tool was Jimmy O’Toole, big and dumb and really handy in a fight. Skinny (he would say wirey) and moody, Gummy would eat anything, but he especially loved gummy bears (and hated his nickname with a deep and abiding passion). Nobody could remember how Ratchet got his name, but he was in charge. 

 

“We’re fucked, man. You know that, right?” Gummy said absolutely anything and everything that popped into his head. He never shut up. Ratchet crushed his mostly-empty beer can in his fist and spun to fire it at his head. It got him between the eyes and he yelped. 

 

“What the—OW!”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Well what’re we gonna do about Queen? We are in so much trouble.”

 

Behind them Tool began to laugh, a low guffaw that rumbled from his chest. He’d be laughing about the beer can hitting Gummy, Ratchet thought; the big guy’s brain was on a constant ten second delay. 

 

“We just gotta figure out where he is, that’s all.”

 

“He’s prolly back in Starling by now.” Gummy rubbed the spot on his forehead roughly with his fingers. “We’re fucked,” he repeated under his breath. 

 

Ratchet sighed and wondered again what he’d done to deserve being saddled with Gummy. “Think about it, Numb-nuts.” He waved Queen’s phone in the air. “The bitch’s filled up his voicemail looking for him. He ain’t back in Starling.” 

 

“But he’s rich. He could be anywhere.”

 

“Naw, he’s still close by.” Ratchet didn’t elaborate, because he was in possession of Queen’s wallet and neither of them knew that. “We just gotta find him.”

 

———————————————————

 

“Okay, so this isn’t all bad news,” Felicity mused from over his shoulder. “It looks like it’s mostly a temporary problem brought on by head trauma. Do you know if you were hit in the head lately?”

 

He reached up and rubbed a hand against the back of his head. “It was pretty sore right about here the day I woke up.” He shrugged faintly. “That was probably it.”

 

Felicity nodded along, biting her bottom lip and lost in thought. “The best way to get your memory back may be to flood your brain with information and see if we trigger anything. You up for that?”

 

He turned to look at her with those beautiful blue eyes. “I’m up for anything at this point.”

 

She dropped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed just as the 15-minutes-to-close announcement came on over the loud speaker. “Great. First thing tomorrow we’ll get started.”

 

———————————————————

 

Marianne Fuller was a Kord by birth; she knew privilege and luxury like the back of her hand. She knew how to conduct herself in every possible situation and how to come out on top no matter what. 

 

But unfortunately for her, she didn’t know Moira Queen very well.

 

“I’m so flattered you thought of asking me to help with the gala,” she gushed understatedly. It wouldn’t do to appear too anxious to be included, although she had been dreaming of being a part of this event for years. She had some very specific ideas. “Naturally I only want to be told what to do.” She laughed prettily. “I’m happy just to be a worker bee.”

 

Moira smiled without showing her teeth. “I’m so pleased you’ll accept.” She took a sip of lemon and bergamot infused water and watched herself place the glass oh so carefully back onto the table. “I hear our sons know each other.” Marianne nodded along. “Apparently they traveled together to Central City for the Super Bowl.”

 

Max’s mother dropped her gaze to her menu, a tiny smile still on her face. “I believe Max mentioned that Oliver was going, yes.”

 

Their server moved into her sight line behind Marianne’s shoulder but Moira shot him a look and he immediately veered away to another table. “It’s been so busy—with the gala—Oliver and I haven’t crossed paths lately. Did Max tell you they had a good time?”

 

It was possible Marianne Fuller hadn’t even realized she was smack in the middle of an interrogation, but if she did she clearly didn’t know how to get herself out of it. Moira tilted her head as she waited for an answer. Amateur. 

 

“Ah, yes. I believe they had a very good time. I’m told the jet was a mess,” she added with a little laugh. Boys, that laugh seemed to say. Moira pounced like a tiger.

 

“Is Max in Starling now?”

 

Marianne blinked several times and wet her lips. “Ah, no. He took a leave of absence from his internship at Kord Industries to take his girlfriend to the Maldives. A little getaway.” She forced a smile. 

 

“The Maldives are lovely this time of year.” Moira was smiling, the essence of serenity. She actually had no idea if they were lovely or not; she’d never been. But she did know one thing from her years working within the international arm of Queen Consolidated: Max Fuller had recently taken his girlfriend and fled to a non-extradition country. 

 

She closed her menu very gently and laid it aside. “Now, as far as the gala is concerned, I was thinking you would make a fabulous chairperson for the cleanup committee. Ah, here comes our server.”

 

——————————————————-

 

“Maps!” Cisco snapped his fingers and got to work on the computer as Felicity nodded along enthusiastically. 

 

“A map of Central City is a great idea. Maybe he’ll recognize a neighborhood.” She watched Barry sort through the various local High School yearbooks they kept on the reference shelves, pulling dates from the last five to ten years. They’d guessed at his age, all of them standing around and studying him like he was a bug under a microscope. Mr Wilson had laughed and laughed. This whole thing was highly entertaining for him. 

 

“What else. Sports? Cars?”

 

“Make ‘em high end cars,” Cisco muttered from his perch. “My money says HE has money.”

 

A crinkle appeared between her eyes, but Felicity couldn’t argue. His hands—well, they weren’t exactly clean, but they definitely weren’t rough. He didn’t dig ditches for a living, that was certain. Those jeans of his hadn’t come from Wal Mart, either. 

 

“Military?” Barry suggested, his arms full of heavy yearbooks. He stood slowly and headed off for the glassed-in study room they’d put him in as soon as he and Mr Wilson had arrived. It had a long counter with enough space to spread out all the materials they wanted him to look over. 

 

“Maybe.” She dragged the word out, mulling it over. “Couldn’t hurt to show him something from each branch, just in case.” She collected a few more books from reference and then slipped back to the break room for a granola bar, a bottle of water, and an apple. 

 

Figuring out who you were had to work up an appetite. 

 

———————————————————

 

“Anything, Detective?”

 

A heavy sigh. “Nothin’. If they took him outta the city I don’t know how we’d—“

 

“His phone!”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t you have someone who can ping it or something? Find its location? They do it on tv all the time.”

 

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll try. The IT guy owes me a favor. Thanks, Mrs Queen.”

 

“It’s probably time for you to call me Moira.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Talk to you soon.”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

————————————————————

 

He took the new name rather well, all things considered. Felicity thought she’d die when Cisco slipped up and called him Dewey, but he’d only blinked once in surprise before quipping that it beat the hell out of “Kid”.

 

Mr Wilson laughed until he gave himself a coughing fit so bad they almost called 911. 

 

The four of them—three librarians and a homeless guy named Dewey—were crammed into the study room looking over the books and papers spread across the desk. 

 

“Nothing from the maps.”

 

A head shake. 

 

“Newspapers?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Yearbooks.”

 

Their new friend sighed. “There’s just so much. Am I supposed to recognize a face, or the school colors? I—“

 

Felicity stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Sorry to push.” She shot a glare at Cisco who didn’t look the least bit sorry. Barry reached around to remove some of the yearbooks and accidentally pushed a section of the paper onto the floor. Dewey was leaning down to retrieve it when he froze. 

 

“Wait a minute...”

 

The paper in his hand featured an article about Central City’s recovery from hosting the Super Bowl. He was staring at the logo. Felicity and Cisco shared a look. 

 

“The Super Bowl? Is that a memory?”

 

“Yes. No. I don’t know, but it’s the first thing that hasn’t been a big blank in my brain all day.”

 

“Maybe you went. Maybe you’re from out of town and that’s why Central City maps aren’t triggering anything. Barry—“ Felicity said excitedly, but he was already floundering out the door under his burden of books to print off NFL team logos. 

 

Felicity suddenly realized how much actual library work they still needed to get done and bit her lip but he saw, with those blue eyes, he understood what she was thinking, and he kind of smiled. Just a lift of the corners of his mouth. “Go,” he said. 

 

“We’re going to find out who you are,” she promised. “We’re going to get you home.”

 

They locked eyes and he nodded, and in that moment she’d never wanted to be more right about anything in her life. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Oliver leaned his head back against the car seat and closed his eyes. He suspected he was still drunk from the night before, which was faintly embarrassing considering the night before had been a Thursday. Losing my edge, he thought absently. He chalked it up to the craziness of the last few months: losing his dad, floundering at yet another position he didn’t want at QC, the dust-up with the Lance sisters. Part of him felt bad he’d let Thea see him in that condition, but she hadn’t seemed to notice. Or at least hadn’t said anything if she did._

_The jet came into view on the tarmac. Max Fuller and a couple of his buddies were standing next to the stairs, flirting with the flight attendant. He didn’t usually hang with Max but they’d run into each other at a club last night—the kind of place Fuller always bragged about wanting to own some day—and he’d told Oliver about their plans to jet out to Central City and take advantage of all the Super Bowl parties. He didn’t take the invitation seriously until he’d gotten the text a couple of hours ago, confirming; with nothing better to do he’d pounded two bottles of water and packed a bag. Bring on the partying._

_His driver slowed as they approached the plane at the same time Oliver’s phone began to ring. He groaned when he read the caller ID, because he had a rule about talking on the phone, but Moira Queen had a rule about it too._

_“Hey mom.”_

 

_“Where are you? Thea said you were going on a boys weekend?”_

_He ignored the tone of her voice. “Yeah. We’re headed to Central City. It’s the Super Bowl.” He had to raise his voice at the end, because he’d already opened the door to get out._

_“Who is we, Oliver?”_

_“Friends,” he yelled, slamming the car door and taking his overnight bag from the driver._

_“Which friends?”_

_He lifted the bag in greeting to Fuller, who was taking the lead up the stairs. “Friends, mom. Stop. It’s fine. I’ll be back Monday.”_

_“Be careful.”_

_“Yup.”_

_He hung up before she could say any more._

 

——————————————————-

 

“It’s gonna get really cold over the next couple of days,” John warned. He had his back to her as he stood at the stove stirring a big pot of spaghetti. Felicity was holding Sara in her lap, playing absently with her toes as the baby gurgled and drooled.

 

She didn’t have to ask why he was telling her this. 

 

“What’d I miss?” Lyla demanded as she swept into the room, dropping things in her wake in order to free her hands for her daughter. Felicity passed her off without a fight. 

 

“Nothing. Dinner’s on its way,” her husband assured her.

 

“Felicity, how was the chili the other night?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Too bland, too many beans?”

 

“It was good.”

 

“That’s what I told her.” John caught Felicity’s eye and they grinned at each other. 

 

Nobody said anything for a few minutes as John drained the pasta and put dinner together. They were in the depths of winter; after a long day of overcast skies and early darkness Felicity loved the snug feeling of being warm and loved in the Diggle’s kitchen. 

 

Lyla swirled her fork in her spaghetti as she bounced Sara on one knee. “Make any progress with Dewey today?” 

 

Felicity shot a look at Dig, because of course he’d told her; he was studying his own dinner very intently. She cleared her throat and felt her face turning red. 

 

“Not much. He seems more comfortable around us, so that’s something I guess.” She pushed a tomato out of the way in her salad. “I wish there was something else we could do.”

 

The silence that greeted her said everything she’d expected to hear. 

 

“I hear it’s going to be pretty cold tomorrow,” Lyla finally said to no one in particular. 

 

——————————————————-

 

“Well look at you!”

 

If he wasn’t a new man, he was at least a more presentable one. His blue eyes flashed with humor and a bit of pride at Felicity’s exclamation. 

 

His coat and the red backpack—heavier every day with the bits and pieces of his new life—sat next to Mr Wilson. He was standing before her at the reference desk in a slightly baggy pair of jeans and a heather blue Henley that made his eyes pop. 

 

“We got into a shelter with showers last night. It was amazing.” He dropped his eyes and flashed a grin that nearly stopped her heart with its beauty. “Clothing bank too. Whoever the old me was, I’m sure he never appreciated personal hygiene enough.”

 

Felicity laughed and his eyes tracked her in a way they never had before. It was like he was seeing her for the first time. 

 

“I need something to do,” he said suddenly, catching her off guard. 

 

“Uh, like what?”

 

“Anything. I just feel...useless.”

 

“If you know your ABCs there’s always shelving to do,” Cisco piped up from his stool at the Circulation desk. He hated to shelve. Felicity tipped her head and was granted another brief smile. 

 

“Picture books okay?”

 

——————————————————-

 

“Well, you didn’t want anyone to recognize you.” Quentin looked like he was preparing to gloat—and enjoy it. Moira squared her shoulders and stepped away from her car to join him and walk into the building; she refused to let him think he was making her uncomfortable. 

 

After living decades with the constant presence of either security or some assistant or staff member she was beginning to enjoy the process of sneaking off her own estate alone. No wonder Oliver was always disappearing. Her heart squeezed painfully and her breath caught at the thought of him but she continued forward, through the door the Detective held open and into the low concrete building. 

 

He led the way to the check in counter and signed them in, then escorted her out the back of the building. It was a nice day, despite being winter. 

 

“Here,” he said, holding out a pair of black ear muffs. 

 

“Detective, I don’t think—“

 

“Quentin, remember? Look, I know you’re worried about messing up your fancy hairdo or whatever,” he waved a hand to indicate all of her in general, “but trust me, you’re going to need them.” He grinned suddenly and produced a pair of clear plastic safety glasses. “Besides, it’s the rules.”

 

Moira stared at the objects in his hands with a brief twist of her lip but took them and put them on. Quentin nodded once, pleased in his grumpy way, and unholstered his gun. 

 

——————————————————-

 

Just when they thought they were making progress Barry delivered another armload of picture books, setting them down between them with a grin. Felicity groaned, but she didn’t really mean it. 

 

She was enjoying herself. 

 

He’d been asking her—intermittently, eyes on his own work as they sat cross legged on the floor—about her past, so she’d told him about Vegas, and her early start into college, and the move to Central City where she was a stranger. 

 

“But then I met John and Lyla. They sort of adopted me.” She smiled suddenly. “Lyla’s made it her mission to make sure I’m well fed.” She gulped as she realized how that must sound to someone who never knew when his next meal might be. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay, Felicity.”

 

It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. She liked it. He cleared his throat and looked down for the next book on the stack, and because she was still staring at him like some crazy person who stares at good looking homeless men she saw his face change. He was studying the two long eared rabbits—Big Nut Brown Hare and Little Nut Brown Hare—on the cover of the book.

 

“What is it? Do you recognize something?”

 

He ran his hand over it. “This looks...familiar.”

 

Felicity flipped it open to the first page. “‘Guess How Much I Love You’. This is a great book.” She smoothed her hand across the title page.

 

“I love you as high as I can hop,” he said softly. Her eyes flew to him, because they weren’t on that page.

 

“You know this book. You’re remembering!” She looked down at it again. “It’s too recent to have been read to you when you were little. You must’ve read it to someone else.”

 

Their eyes locked again and Felicity bit her lip; she’d thought of him having a family out there somewhere, of course, but not a Someone. Or a child. From the look on his face it was clear he hadn’t thought of that until just now either. He cleared his throat and looked away. 

 

“I don’t...FEEL like a father. I mean, isn’t that something you would KNOW? No matter what?” 

 

For once in her life Felicity found herself speechless; unfortunately someone else had noticed too.

 

“Hey, Felicity. Cat got your tongue?”

 

The voice made her jump. Cooper Seldon was standing over them, hands on his hips and a smirk on his face. In her surprise she made eye contact and his face lit up. Frack. She looked away and closed the cover of the book with a smack. Cooper chuckled, and she suddenly knew why he’d come over.

 

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, his tone just shy of mocking. Felicity’s heart stopped. 

 

“Dewey,” a voice said quietly beside her. And as calm as you please the homeless man offered his hand up to the fireman trying very hard to be an intimidating asshole, while she stared at them both with her mouth frozen into a little ‘O’.

 

Cooper waited longer than was polite to accept the handshake, and if there had ever been a doubt in Felicity’s mind that she should’ve broken up with this guy it vanished in that moment. He looked back at her with that stupid smirk he probably thought was sexy.

 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

 

Her tongue swiped her top lip, an attempt to hold her temper in check, and Cooper’s glance darted away and back; he knew she was mad. 

 

“It’s about the next kids program,” he added, shifting his weight. 

 

Felicity nodded and pushed to her feet. She glanced once at Dewey, but he was giving the rabbits on the picture book one more studious look before shelving it. 

 

Cooper took her elbow as they stepped to the side and she had to clench her hands into fists to keep from wrenching it from his grasp. 

 

“That your new boyfriend?” His smile was mocking. 

 

“Fuck you.” So, so quietly. It might be empty, but it was still the children’s section. “You have no right to talk.”

 

Cooper huffed. “Don’t be so overdramatic, Felicity. It was one time. And at least she wasn’t homeless.”

 

Felicity blinked once. “Get. The hell. OUT of my library.”

 

He shook his head disgustedly and walked away. 

 

Felicity looked down at her shaking hands and then up at the soaring space around her and told Cisco she was taking lunch early. 

 

———————————————————

 

Moira shrugged the collar of her coat up around her neck and shivered slightly. Once the outdoor shooting range filled up Lance had moved them over out of the way so they could talk. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat on the top of a picnic table, but it was certainly before she’d met Robert. Before he’d brought her into his world and allowed his mother to remake Moira Dearden from the ground up. 

 

“We got nothin’ pinging the phone. The battery’s probably dead. But my guy’s looking through the phone records, so hopefully we can tell where they were when they made the calls to you.”

 

She shivered again, this time for her son, and Lance tipped his head as he watched her. 

 

“You hungry?”

 

The restaurant was called The Workingman’s Friend and it was crowded, but they managed to snag a booth at the back and agreed on pizza. 

 

“Beer?” he asked with his version of a winning smile. 

 

“Chardonnay,” she corrected with a more effective interpretation of her own. 

 

Lance leaned back and sighed. “Was that your first gun range?”

 

Moira couldn’t help chuckling. “It was very educational. I appreciate you taking the time to meet me.”

 

He shrugged. “Not a problem. I’m required to get practice in, and I get paid for my time. Win-win.” Their drinks arrived and he rotated his glass for a second. “You ever think about trying it yourself?”

 

“What, shooting a gun?” She shook her head quickly. “I have security to handle that. I’ll leave it to the experts.”

 

Lance took a sip of his beer. “I can’t even imagine what your world must be like.” His eyes flicked to her. “How did you and Robert meet?”

 

“At a High School basketball game.” She smiled at the memory. “His school was playing ours.”

 

“I bet you were a cheerleader.”

 

“The Captain.” They both laughed. “He snuck off the team bus after the game to find me and ask me out and then it left without him. He had to use a payphone to call his driver.” Moira gazed off into nothing with a wistful smile. “I’ll never forget the looks on my family’s faces when a limousine dropped me off at home.” 

 

His nose wrinkled and he waved a hand at her. “You didn’t...grow up like this?”

 

“Oh no. We weren’t poor, by any means, but we weren’t...” She trailed off with a knowing smile, no words needed. 

 

“Listen, I was sorry to hear...” He frowned, looking at anything but her. “I’m sorry about Robert.”

 

“Thank you, Detective.”

 

“How many times do I hafta tell ya?” The server set their pizza on the table. “It’s Quentin.”

 

——————————————————

 

“You gotta come see this.”

 

Felicity didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Cisco, in all the time I’ve known you that sentence has never meant anything good.”

 

When he didn’t answer she glanced up; Barry was there too, peeking over Cisco’s shoulder with impossibly wide eyes. She sighed. 

 

They led her to the public men’s room and at first all she noticed was a toilet in desperate need of a flush. But then she realized why. 

 

“Wha...how...?” 

 

The plumbing was gone. 

 

“Cisco...”

 

All the pipes that should’ve been connected to the toilets—and the urinals—had been removed. During business hours. Poof. Gone. 

 

“How did they...in broad daylight?!” Felicity turned to stare at her co-workers. Cisco shrugged. “Have you checked the cameras?” Barry’s head disappeared from the doorway, leaving Cisco to hold the door open for her. 

 

“Work at a public library, they said,” Cisco intoned. “It’ll be fun, they said. I should’ve taken that job at Star Labs.”

 

——————————————————-

 

Moira reached for the check but Quentin waved her off. 

 

“You know how long it’s been since I paid for a lady’s dinner? Please.”

 

His phone rang as he was going for his wallet, so he switched pockets. 

 

“Lance. Hey...Yeah...Okay. You sure? Yeah, got it. Thanks.” He set the phone down. “That was my guy. Those calls were made from Central City.”

 

Moira’s heart skipped a beat. “He could still be there. I have to go.” She began to scoot out of the booth, but Lance made a grab for her arm. 

 

“Wait a minute. There have to be a half million people in Central City. You can’t just start knocking on doors. You need a plan.”

 

Her eyes were wild but determined. “Then get me a plan.”

 

———————————————————

 

Felicity slept badly and woke up before her alarm, which never happened. She stared at the ceiling for several minutes and parsed through the dreams still haunting her after they’d so rudely disturbed her rest. 

 

At least I got an early start for once, she thought as she hustled to her car in the frozen half-light. They hadn’t been kidding about the cold spell; it was brutal. Not surprisingly she was the first car in the parking lot. She opened the door to get out, ducking her head down into her coat to avoid the biting wind, ready to make a run for it into the library. 

 

She almost missed him.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

He was curled up against the side of the building, the collar of his coat pulled up, visibly shivering. She could actually hear his teeth chattering. 

 

Felicity dropped to a crouch next to him. 

 

“What are you doing here?! Oh my god. You’re frozen solid.”

 

He sort of fell against her, groaning as she tried to haul him to his feet. “Easy,” he gasped through clenched teeth. 

 

She started to reach for her badge to open the employee entrance door but then reconsidered. “C’mon. We’re going to my car.”

 

He made a noise of protest she ignored as she got him folded into the front seat, but what he couldn’t articulate through speech was clearly conveyed in his beautiful blue eyes. 

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she promised. “I’m taking you to my house.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Central City had gone all out for the Super Bowl. A whole section of streets had been closed off to create a giant plaza that allowed pedestrians to move from restaurant to bar to club at will. There was live music practically 24/7 inside heated tents, an ice rink, and a zip line from one end of the plaza to the other._  
  
_“Do we have rooms?” Oliver asked as the Uber let them out at the entrance._  
  
_“Who needs rooms when you’re rich and good looking?” Fuller replied with a smile, making his buddies laugh._  
  
_He wasn’t exaggerating. Within half an hour they’d hooked up with a group of ladies from a local university who had put more forethought into their travel plans and booked a couple of rooms nearby. It took very little effort to talk them into storing their bags as well, and in no time they were all joining the crowds streaming into the party zone._  
  
_“YOU GOTTA SEE THIS PLACE,” a not unattractive brunette who’d attached herself to Oliver yelled over the noise of the 90’s tribute band in the tent beside them. They were in a line of people shuffling forward slowly toward the entrance to an ancient-looking brick building. “IT USED TO BE A BROTHEL AND A SPEAK EASY. NOW IT’S A FAMOUS BAR.” She stumbled a bit as she leaned in and Oliver took the opportunity to slip an arm around her waist. She sank against him with a smile, which told him everything he needed to know._  
  
_“NICE COAT,” she added directly into his ear, making him wince. A bouncer and a guy who looked like the bar manager stepped out onto the sidewalk and began their walk down the line, making a headcount. The collective breaths of the partygoers puffed into the cold night air as everyone waited to see if they’d make the cut, but Oliver Queen knew this game and wasn’t taking any chances. With one hand around the girl he dug into his pocket and produced a neatly folded hundred dollar bill. The manager’s eyes caught the movement, nodded, and added two more to the count with a wave of his hand._  
  
_They were in._  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
I should take him to the hospital, she thought, or to John at the fire station. But he might not be there and Cooper might and no way was THAT going to work. Besides, she lived close. If it turned out he was more than she could handle there was always the ER as back up. What were you supposed to do for hypothermia anyway? Hot shower? Cold shower? Lukewarm shower? Bath? As a librarian she should probably know this, she just didn’t have enough Midwestern winters under her belt yet.  
  
“What were you thinking?” Felicity asked him under her breath as she took the corner maybe a little too fast.  
  
“Wasn’t long,” he stuttered back, or at least that’s what it sounded like through his clenched jaw. Her car hadn’t warmed up much from her short commute but she cranked the fan up anyway. “Don’t...Work...Trouble.”  
  
“I won’t get into trouble,” she sighed. “I’ll call them when we get there. They can get coverage. What if you lose a toe?!” She was concentrating on the road but she knew he was giving her a look. Everybody did when she jumped subjects like that.  
  
Felicity pulled into an alleyway with a quiet warning for him to hang on; it was full of potholes. There was just room to squeeze between a light pole and a trash can and then she was making the turn into her driveway and a tiny, square brick house.  
  
“Let me get the door open and then I’ll help you in.”  
  
She was so proud of her little home. A hundred years ago it had started life as the garage to a large stately home that no longer existed. But a year ago, a thousand dollars, and a city tax auction later the lot and the structure were hers. She designed the interior herself and the work was done by Cooper-damn-him-Seldon for just under $30,000. It had a tiny kitchen, enough room for a couch and a tv, and halfway across the 20ft by 20ft space a wall covered top to bottom in bookshelves. A door in the middle of the wall opened into a compact bedroom and a bath, and in the space between the top of the wall and the rafters was a low-ceilinged loft space accessible by a rolling library ladder.  
  
Felicity hauled him inside and staggered with him toward the couch, plopping him down and leaving him long enough to text Cisco and google “hypothermia”.  
  
“Okay, blankets, warm drinks, no showers yet. Can you get your shoes off?”  
  
She pulled the comforter off her bed and grabbed the only other blankets she owned, the one with the MGM Grand logo splashed across it and the other one, the one her mother gave her as part of her high school graduation present. The woven one with the photo transfer of herself and her mother standing with their arms around each other, smiling.  
  
Donna Smoak in a cocktail dress was no joke, and a life-sized Donna Smoak in a cocktail dress imprinted forever on a blanket was even more spectacular.  
  
“Here.” She threw the pink comforter over him. “Feet up. Don’t look too closely at the picture on this one, if you please. I’m going to make some tea.” She’d barely put the kettle on to boil when she had a moment of inspiration and threw all her clean towels into the dryer to spin for ten minutes. By the time the tea was ready she also had him wrapped—head and all—in their fluffy warmth.  
  
“How are your feet? Can you feel your toes?”  
  
His eyes were closed and his teeth were no longer chattering, but otherwise it was hard to tell how he was doing inside his colorful cocoon; she’d even covered over his nose with the towels.  
  
“Wiggling them,” he said, muffled but strong.  
  
“Soup!” she cried suddenly, making him jump. Her cupboards were abysmally bare, but John Diggle had a key to her house, and once or twice a week he let himself in to stock her freezer with some kind of soup or casserole that either he or Lyla had made. There had to be something in there that would work. She stood in front of the open door and rummaged around.  
  
“Chili? Or...taco soup.”  
  
She got a grunt in reply, which was not helpful. “Chili it is.”  
  
It was almost 10:30am by the time she got it thawed and heated, a little early for lunch but not ridiculously so. Felicity filled two bowls and managed to find one box of crackers without a questionable expiration date and carried everything to her coffee table.  
  
She sat herself down cross-legged on the floor and watched him; he didn’t appear to be asleep but he looked peaceful, content even. Without prompting his eyes opened and regarded her for a minute.  
  
“You didn’t have to do this.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
The blankets heaved around him as he worked a hand up through the covers to pull the towel away from his face, but he made no move to sit up.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
She smiled. “Eat.”  
  
“Check your toes,” she added, already digging in to her bowl as he shifted and sat up under the pile of towels and blankets.  
  
“Could I...use your bathroom?”  
  
“Absolutely! Sorry, never thought. Straight through there.”  
  
He was only gone a minute and gave her a good report on both the toes and fingers when he returned and dived in to the chili.  
  
Felicity studied him as he ate. “Your ears and nose aren’t red. I think that’s a good sign. How long were you out there? WHAT were you doing out there?”  
  
He stared into his bowl as he chewed, thinking it over. “The shelters filled up fast, because of the cold I guess. The last one Slade knew of had a line around the block waiting to get in. They came out to take a count...I could tell they stopped counting when they got to me. Slade was behind me, and with his cough...” He set his spoon down in his bowl and swiped a hand over his face. “I knew he wouldn’t let me give up my spot for him so I made some excuse and got out of line. Most of the night I just walked from gas station to gas station. I’d stay til it was time to move on.” He meant until someone kicked him out; Felicity shuddered.  
  
“I was kind of desperate by the time I got to the library. I was hoping somebody would bend the rules and let me in early.” He looked at her a long moment. “I didn’t expect this.”  
  
“Well now that you’re here you should stay to rest up. It doesn’t sound like you got any sleep last night.” Felicity intercepted his empty bowl. “Refill?” He nodded. She pushed off the floor. “Good. Then a shower.”  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
They split the list between them: Quentin continued calling the hospitals and jails—places you had to have a badge in order to get decent answers anyway—and added airports, and Moira got the Central City hotels.  
  
She made the calls from her bedroom, in a window seat overlooking her rose garden. Her mother-in-law’s rose garden, she corrected herself sternly. She had always preferred wildflowers to the fussy—sometimes painful—formality of rose bushes, but she had never felt it her place to make any changes. At most she allowed herself mixed bouquets of greenhouse daisies and lilies in the winter, but as long as  they were blooming the mansion was decorated with Queen roses.  
  
One by one she checked off the names of the hotels as they confirmed that no one named Oliver Queen, Max Fuller, or anyone else from the flight manifest had booked a room there in the past month. Her mind threatened to drift as she continued through the list and got the same answer time and time again, because other matters—QC matters—were piling up in the wake of Robert’s death.  
  
Thank God for Walter Steele, she thought. He’d been a friend and confidante to Robert for many years, rising to CFO in the company and currently serving as interim CEO in the wake of her husband’s death. Walter had been the one to make the call to her the night Robert died and given her the news that rocked her world off its foundation and changed her life forever.  
  
Now, as she sat dialing Central City hotels, Moira wondered if her life was about to be destroyed once again. Her hands shook as she connected the next call.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Felicity turned from rinsing the chili bowls to find him hovering in the doorway to her bedroom with just a towel tied around his waist. He was underfed, for sure, but the lean lines and definition—was that a...onetwothreefourfivesix...EIGHT-pack?!—of his torso spoke of someone who hadn’t been hungry for long. Guh.  
  
“My, um, clothes?”  
  
She shook her head quickly. “Sorry! I threw them in the washer. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was a good opportunity, since, you know, you weren’t wearing them. Or anything, like now. Obviously. Anyhoo, I put them on Speed Wash, so it’ll go...faster.” Unlike this ramble. Oh god, Felicity! Her face was burning with embarrassment. “I think I have a robe that will fit you.”  
  
It did fit, the white fluffy hotel-issue robe, just one more in a long list of items her mother had inexplicably added to her moving boxes as she’d packed for her new life in Central City. He padded to the couch to sit with one leg tucked under him and pulled the woven Smoak Women blanket across his lap.  
  
“Two showers in two days. It could be a record. Who knows?” He shrugged and gave a self-deprecating laugh.  
  
She grinned at him, then felt it fade as he kept looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes.  
  
“Thanks again.”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem. It’s no big deal. Happy to help.” The ramble had returned because her mother’s smiling face was currently staring back at her from just below this man’s waist and OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE—  
  
“It is a big deal,” he was saying, cutting into the mini gargantuan freak out in her head. “You’re the first person besides Slade to see me as a...person. So thank you.”  
  
Felicity blew out a long breath. “You’re welcome. I never knew Mr Wilson’s first name until today. Isn’t that funny?”  
  
“He has a little crush on you, you know.”  
  
They both grinned for a second and she dropped her head to study her fingernails, suddenly bashful. She heard his attempt to smother a yawn and stood up.  
  
“You should rest. I’ll be here. Just...don’t worry, okay?”  
  
He nodded and rose to rearrange himself in order to lay down. “I’ve warmed up now. I won’t need all of these.” He kept the MGM Grand blanket and handed over the others; Felicity clutched the woven one to her chest so he wouldn’t see anything he shouldn’t and dragged it and the comforter back to her bedroom. By the time she’d re-made her bed, switched his laundry to the dryer, and come back out he was asleep.  
  
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket with a text from Dig.  
  
STOPPED BY THE LIBRARY. THEY SAID YOU CALLED IN. EVERYTHING OKAY?  
  
Felicity stared at the message for a long moment with her lip caught between her teeth before answering.  
  
FINE. JUST TOOK A MENTAL HEALTH DAY.  
  
Then she climbed the library ladder into the loft and curled up with the Smoak blanket and a book.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Felicity woke sometime later and knew by the sun streaming through the skylights it must be late afternoon. She sat up enough to crane her neck over the edge of her lofty perch to see him sitting on the couch below her. He was dressed, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees, the blanket folded neatly beside him.  
  
“Hey,” she said softly. He looked up and back over his shoulder with a smile. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You been up long?”  
  
“A little bit. I didn’t want to disturb you.”  
  
He turned his body so he could see better and threw an arm up over the back of the couch. “That looks like a cozy spot. A good use of space. Smart.”  
  
Felicity smiled, warmed by the compliment. “Thanks. You can come up if you want.”  
  
In a moment he had mounted the ladder and his head and shoulders were poking above the edge of the loft. He scrambled over the top and scooted over to sit cross legged beside her. He gazed around the space with its low table for her laptop, storage built into the space between the wall and ceiling, and the ridiculously fluffy white rug anchoring the whole space. The only windows in the house flanked the front door, but the skylights provided all the necessary light along with a view of the bright blue winter sky.  
  
He asked several thoughtful questions about its conversion from a garage into a tiny house and listened intently as she told him about finding the building, putting her ideas to paper, and enlisting the help of her then-boyfriend Cooper to show her how to do the work.  
  
“I learned a LOT about the construction process,” she admitted. She looked down at her socks and huffed a rueful laugh. “And about not dating your contractor.”  
  
“I take it you’re not still together?”  
  
“Ah, no. Cooper Seldon can be a very attentive boyfriend. Unfortunately, that attentiveness applies to EX-girlfriends too.”  
  
“Aw, one of those.” He was quiet a moment, staring into the middle distance.  
  
“Do you mind me asking what you’re thinking?”  
  
He smiled crookedly. “I was just wondering,” he sighed, “if I was one of those.”  
  
Felicity cocked her head to the side. “What? A bad boyfriend?”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“Even with no memories you must have some sense of yourself. What you like and don’t like?”  
  
“Apparently I like working out,” he said, plucking at the hem of his shirt with a brief grin.  
  
“I noticed.” Felicity froze, instantly mortified. “I said NOT noticed, right?” He only chuckled and looked bashful—and a little pleased—which made getting her blush under control a bit easier. She discarded her blanket and reached for her laptop. “Well, if you want to start figuring out who you are, there’s no time like the present.”  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Moira was three quarters of the way through the Central City hotel list when a desk clerk answered her inquiry with more than an apology.  
  
“We didn’t have anyone with those names registered, but we did have a piece of luggage left behind after that weekend. Let me see if it’s still here.”  
  
She thought of the matching set of Louis Vuitton luggage sitting in his closet and the carry on currently missing from it and her heart leaped. The hold music cut off as the clerk came back on the line.  
  
“Yeah, it’s still here. It’s leather, with handles. Looks expensive. There’s no luggage tag, so we couldn’t track down the owner. Do you think it might belong to one of them?”  
  
If Moira hadn’t already been sitting she would’ve collapsed to the floor.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Felicity’s fingers flew over the keys. No recent Missing Persons reports for an adult male in his mid-twenties, no major news articles asking for information...everything she searched for led to the same place. Nowhere.  
  
“So no one’s looking for me.”  
  
His delivery was bland, but when she glanced up at him she saw the way he held his jaw, the small frown set into his eyebrows. His unease made her want to babble reassurances, but she swallowed the urge down.  
  
“Let’s concentrate on figuring out how to get your memory back.” She tapped the keyboard with her index finger, her eyes narrowed. “Have you watched any television lately?”  
  
He shook his head no and she smiled.  
  
“Follow me.”  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“Nope....No...Uh, no...Ugh, what is that?!”  
  
“Game of Thrones? Are you kidding me?!” Felicity sighed as she scrolled through the contents of her DVR. “Clearly I have my work cut out for me.”  
  
Sports were a big hit. He seemed to know everything there was to know about American football, and basketball, and hockey...Felicity turned her head and outright stared at his sudden chatter and enthusiasm. Meanwhile, he couldn’t tell a Targaryen from a Ferengi. It was totally unfair.  
  
“Maybe you’re a sports reporter,” she muttered, grinning when he shot her a look.  
  
The soft light of a winter twilight glowed through the skylights before Felicity began to think about dinner.  
  
“Ready to find out if you like pizza?” And then I’m introducing you to Jon Snow, she added to herself. She flipped her phone over to check the time and almost missed the frown of concern that crossed his face. He shook his head.  
  
“I should go. I’ve made you miss a day of work, I’ve eaten your food—“  
  
“Go where, exactly? It’s going to be as cold tonight as it was last night. Are you planning to set yourself up for a repeat of that?”  
  
“Felicity...” he sighed. “I can’t keep taking charity from you. You don’t know me. _I_ don’t even know me.”  
  
She watched him throw his hands up in exasperation and waited for his tantrum to run its course.  
  
“Feel better?” He frowned at her but didn’t answer. “I hope you worked up an appetite, because now I’m ordering two pizzas. What do you want on yours?”  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“Moira...”  
  
“Oliver’s luggage is in that hotel, Quentin. I know it. I’m going to Central City.”  
  
His sighs of exasperation over the phone were getting all too familiar, but so was the feeling that she was convincing him she was right. Moira heard him hiss a swear word under his breath and almost smiled.  
  
“Let me see if I can get some time off work. You’re not going out there alone.”  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; real life moments--some good, some not so good--got in the way. This chapter also has a lot of moving parts and I wanted to make sure I got everything in. Think of this as the end of Part One.
> 
> The world lost a lovely librarian this week, a woman from my branch who was so much fun to work with. She took a world of knowledge and experience with her and will be missed. This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Joyce. She had no idea I write fan fiction as a hobby, but no doubt she would've approved, and probably would've thought it was a hoot.

_Everything was a blur at this point. Sights and sounds swirled around him, pounding in his head and overwhelming his senses, making him faintly queasy. The brunette had been replaced by a blonde, and Max had found him somehow. Or maybe the blonde was his. Oliver was too strung out to keep track.  
  
“Are we still in the bar?” he yelled over the music.  
  
Max snorted. “Which one?” That made them both laugh. Oliver let his head fall back and loll against the brick wall behind him. He couldn’t blame this feeling only on alcohol.  
  
“What’d you gi’ me?” he slurred.  
  
“They said it was oxy, I dunno.” It sounded like Max giggled. Oliver frowned.  
  
“Who’s ‘they’?”  
_  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Felicity woke slowly, blinking against the soft gray of winter’s dawn. She was curled up on her bed, on top of the comforter but under the Smoak blanket. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and the shower was running behind the bathroom door.  
  
The water cut off, so she lay there and listened to the absence of it too, trying to piece together the last hours she remembered. They’d gorged themselves on pizza—two of them, covered in every ingredient known to man, an experiment—and then found an ESPN channel re-airing the Super Bowl and watched it, hoping he would see something that triggered a memory. When that turned out to be a dead end they started watching Game of Thrones. Everything after that was a mystery.  
  
The light under the door clicked off and he emerged, dressed for the day, hovering and uncertain.  
  
“Good morning,” she croaked in a voice rough with sleep.  
  
“Hey.” He hesitated a breath. “I hope you don’t mind, about the shower. I wanted to be out of your way.”  
  
She stayed curled up under the blanket but extracted a hand long enough to run her fingers through her bed hair. “What happened last night?”  
  
He froze for just a second, watchful. Ready to be accused.  
  
“Nothing. You fell asleep partway through the third episode. You looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t think I should sleep in your bed, so...” He trailed off, looking at the floor.  
  
“You carried me in here?”  
  
A tentative nod. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be.”  
  
He waited a long time to answer. “Okay.”  
  
Felicity stretched to cover the sudden surge of affection she felt for this man without a name; dear Google, what had she gotten herself into? Dig was going to kill her.  
  
“Guess I’d better get in there,” she said, just to fill the silence.  
  
He nodded again and slipped out of the room.  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
_“What’d you say your name was again? Sticky?”  
  
Beside him Max snorted and swayed dangerously sideways. Oliver flailed out a hand for his elbow but missed.  
  
“Gummy,” the guy said with a frown. Max said “Gummy” too right after, all high pitched and funny, clearly losing it over their new friend the drug dealer. Oliver tried to focus.  
  
“Okay, Gummy. Whoo, that’s funny.” Max was helpless with laughter now. Oliver straightened to his full height and flung an arm out wide. “Gummy, I order you to get us out of this shithole and take us somewhere fun. I can pay,” he added in a whisper shout.  
  
Max nodded vigorously. “He’s loaded,” he confided loudly. “His dad’s a billionaire.” The fog of drugs and alcohol lifted enough for Max to look chagrined. “Or...was. He’s dead now. Sorry, buddy.”  
  
Oliver shrugged. “S’okay.” He felt a twinge of something like sadness, but it was down deep and numbed at the moment, which was very, very nice.  
  
A guy the approximate size and shape of a brick wall appeared beside what’s-his-name-Gummy and reached out two giant paws to collect them and clutch them like dolls against his chest. Oliver found that hilariously funny and tried to get Max’s attention, but his friend appeared to be passed out, draped over the giant’s arm and drooling.  
  
Gummy and the big guy had a debate above his drooping head—he heard the words “idea” and “money”—and then they were moving and everything was floaty and soft.  
  
Oliver closed his eyes.  
  
_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It wasn’t yet 6 in the morning, and Moira had only meant to tiptoe in and look at Thea before she left for the airport, but as soon as she bent down to leave a kiss on her forehead Thea’s eyes popped open.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” she whispered.  
  
“Mom, are you going to get Ollie?”  
  
Moira’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
“He’s been gone way longer than he said, and he always lets me know if he’s going to be late. What’s happened?”  
  
A single tear seeped out from the corner of her daughter’s eye and something dark and cold twisted up out of Moira’s gut to clutch at her heart and shake it like a dog with a rabbit. In that moment she hated Robert Queen for leaving her, sad and humiliated, to right his wrongs and hold their family together. She had failed her children—they both had—and now she was going to find her son and make things right.  
  
She brushed Thea’s hair away from her face and smiled softly, the burn of determination hidden behind her beautiful eyes. “I’m going to Central City to get him. I won’t be long.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
They ate their cereal in silence—she made him eat two bowls—and didn’t make eye contact until Felicity had turned around from rinsing their dishes in the sink.  
  
“I don’t want you driving me anywhere. Someone might see.”  
  
Her eyes went wide with surprise. “Well who cares?”  
  
“I do! And you should too.”  
  
Felicity was shocked to realize his words broke her heart a little. She took a deep breath.  
  
“I don’t have to take you to the library. I could drop you anywhere you like. You could borrow enough money for bus fare, see the city—“  
  
“No.”  
  
“What are you going to do? Be homeless and alone forever? Is that your plan?!” She was yelling, which was not who she was. Not even close. She pulled her lips inward to keep herself from saying more and looked away, ashamed.  
  
“Felicity...”  
  
“Sorry I yelled. I’m only trying to help.”  
  
He sighed; it was clear that now he was upset too, but trying to be very gentle as he smoothed things over.  
  
“No, I’m sorry. I just—you’re remarkable, and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”  
  
The hint of a smile lit her face. “I appreciate you worrying about my reputation, but I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Let me at least get you out of my neighborhood to someplace you recognize.”  
  
He huffed a laugh and nodded acceptance, won over and finding the humor—and truth—in her offer.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Quentin Lance was not a good air traveler, that much was clear. He sweated and groaned his way through take off and then got very quiet. Moira thought maybe he’d gone to sleep until she noticed the death grip he had on the arms of his seat.  
  
“Would you like a drink?” she finally asked.  
  
“Make it two,” he answered around a clenched jaw. “One for each hand.”  
  
The drinks worked, at least enough to get him to open his eyes and breathe normally again. Moira opened, closed, and set aside the Starling City paper for the fifth time and wished alcohol could do the same trick for her, but she knew it would only make her sleepy.  
  
She hauled her carry on closer and reached inside, her heart a lead weight in her chest. When Quentin had told her to bring a photo of Oliver her hands had gone instinctively for the heavy leather-bound album, even though she knew it would be a bear to lug around the city. The family photos had been taken in the fall, mere weeks before Robert’s death. She’d booked the session on a whim during a good period for them, but by the time the October date had rolled around she already knew about the latest mistress, so their charming smiles and easy ways with each other were once again an act.  
  
Moira’s hands shook as she opened the cover and examined the photos. The photographer—a professional but also a family friend—had joked that only Moira Queen could order up the kind of gorgeous weather they had that day, crisp and sunny with a startling, cloudless blue sky and no breeze. They were styled, like every family photo op of the day, to look like the photographer had stumbled on to their private and spontaneous nature walk, though of course everyone was magically color-coordinated.  
  
Her fingers ghosted above a close-up of Thea, her hair loose save for a small braid on either side secured together at the back. She was gazing into the camera with an expression that made her seem at once child-like and ageless. On the opposite page Oliver smirked devilishly, his eyes impossibly blue and his jaw a day scruffier than she had requested.  
  
There was the family photo she had planned to use as their Christmas card before tragedy had left them numb to the holidays, the obligatory couple’s pose she had forced a smile for, and the action shot of all of them walking hand-in-hand and laughing, at what she could no longer remember. Maybe nothing.  
  
She found the photo that made her heart stop, the chance shot that happened when the photographer caught Oliver casually slinging his arms around his mother’s shoulders from behind for a hug. He’d taken several of them like that, mother and son, before Thea butted in at the last minute so that they were all three cuddling, Moira’s head thrown back and mouth open in a laugh when her children threatened to pull her off balance. Then a more serious one, with Robert looking on at them proudly from the near distance—the essence of foreshadowing, she thought grimly—and the final shot of all four of them posed upon a plaid blanket with the mansion looming large but out of focus behind them.  
  
“Those are nice,” Quentin said over her shoulder; she’d forgotten for a moment he was there.  
  
Moira’s thank you caught in her throat, but she managed to nod with a faint smile.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Cisco met her at the employee entrance with a look in his eye that said—well, she didn’t have time to decipher what it was trying to say because he was talking before she’d made it through the door.  
  
“Is there something you need to tell me?” He looked extremely serious, which was new.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You weren’t the only one MIA yesterday. Nobody’s seen Dewey in almost 36 hours. Mr Wilson was a mess all day yesterday. He yelled so much we almost called the cops.”  
  
“Why would I—“  
  
Barry burst through the door behind them, almost late, as usual, and saved her from trying to come up with an answer for Cisco. He shot her a look that said their conversation wasn’t over, but let a babbling Barry lead him away to get their day started.  
  
The man in question showed up an hour later, buttoned up into his coat with his face dipped beneath the turned up collar. He slipped into his regular seat and startled Mr Wilson so much he shouted a four letter word. Felicity could feel Cisco’s eyes on her but ignored him—and the two homeless men across the room—in favor of her email.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He was no better—maybe worse—during the touch down, even with the alcohol in him, but once they were safely on the ground in Central City and rolling what felt like miles to the gate Quentin became all business.  
  
“You gotta let me do the talkin’. We have to work this like a police investigation so they respect us, but we gotta be careful, ‘cause we don’t know who might’ve grabbed him. It could’ve been somebody at the hotel, for all we know.”  
  
He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; Moira sat with her hands in her lap to keep them still. Quentin ran a hand down over his mouth in agitation. “You know there’s more human trafficking at the Super Bowl than any other public event?” She shuddered, but made no comment.  
  
“We’ll start at the hotel with that luggage, okay?”  
  
Moira nodded. His attention was drawn out the window to the airport terminal growing steadily larger through the window. He whistled softly and her brow crinkled with a sudden thought.  
  
“Quentin, how many times have you been in a plane?”  
  
He spared her a glance and huffed a nervous laugh. “Including this time? Once.”  
  
The admission left her speechless.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
_The room they were in was not nice, and it wasn’t a bar, either. Oliver was having a hard time holding his head up, but he managed to roll it around to look for Max, passed out next to him and propped into the corner of a really disgusting couch.  
  
“Hey...” Oliver whined to no one. He heard the murmur of conversation across the room but couldn’t make out any words. His limbs didn’t want to cooperate, but he finally managed to flop an arm in Fuller’s general direction.  
  
“Max...we gotta go. Max. Hey.”  
  
The sound of footsteps made him pause, and a face he didn’t recognize swam in front of his vision.  
  
“He waking up?” another voice—maybe Gummy’s—asked. Oliver blinked slowly.  
  
“He’s alright. I’m making the call.”  
  
“Ratchet—“  
  
Despite the slow bloom of panic in his stomach Oliver’s eyes slid shut, and the rest of the conversation went on without him.  
_  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“Ratchet...Ratchet...Ratchet. Hey Ratchet.”  
  
“WHAT. The Fuck.” He twisted away from Gummy’s grip on his arm. They’d been sitting at a library computer for nearly an hour, trying to figure out how to watch porn on one of these things without getting caught. They’d tried stationing Tool behind them like a screen but he couldn’t stop giggling, and people were starting to notice. Gummy’s fussing wasn’t helping. He was already a nervous wreck thinking somebody would ID them for jacking the plumbing out of the men’s, but Ratchet was sure they’d gotten away clean. The story hadn’t even made the news.  
  
“What the hell do you want?”  
  
Gummy pawed at his arm blindly; he was looking the other way and pointing.  
  
“That’s him. That’s Queen. Isn’t it?” He was squinting.  
  
Ratchet followed his pointing finger to the chairs across the room until he was squinting too.  
  
“You mean that homeless guy?”  
  
“I think that’s him. Doesn’t it look like him?”  
  
Ratchet squinted harder. The coat looked familiar. Tool had finally realized they weren’t focusing on the computer screen anymore and swiveled slowly to follow the action.  
  
“Gummy,” Ratchet said thoughtfully, “I think you might be right.”  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“Snacks are here,” Cisco announced.  
  
“And a reporter,” Barry added.  
  
“What?”  
  
Felicity closed down her work and pushed back from the computer in time to see a slim brunette approach the desk, cameraman in tow.  
  
“Helena Bertinelli, Channel Six News. Are you Felicia Smoak?”  
  
She held out a hand that Felicity shook with a crinkle between her brows. “It’s Felicity.”  
  
“Sure. The after school snack program,” the woman prompted. “That was your idea?”  
  
Felicity shook her head quickly. “Initially, but it’s a community-wide effort. Several organizations—“  
  
Helena turned away abruptly to address the cameraman. “This is the one. Start getting some shots.”  
  
Felicity flicked a look at Cisco, who shrugged. Meanwhile, Helena was scanning the space with a critical eye.  
  
“We’ll get better lighting if you’re on this side of the desk.”  
  
Felicity wasn’t sure how the lighting could possibly be better three feet away, but she didn’t see a point in arguing, either. A clump of school age kids was already forming a raggedy line on the far side of the room around a tall man with a cooler. She rounded the corner of the Reference desk and let her gaze wander for just a second to Dewey’s side of the library. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words since she let him out of her car two days before, and it had been all she could do all day not to march over there and make him acknowledge her. If he knew she was currently looking at him he gave no indication, as his head was bent over a picture book.  Felicity took one extra step his way so she could identify the illustrations on the page he was on. It was the copy of The Way Back Home. Interesting.  
  
A small hand slipped inside hers and tugged.  
  
“C’mon, Miss Felicity. The snack man is here.”  
  
She grinned down at the little face looking earnestly up at her and nodded.  
  
“Miss Felicity sure is looking pretty today.”  
  
The voice made her freeze for just a second, but then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, determined to ignore him.  
  
“I believe Miss Felicity is playing hard to get.”  
  
She kept the child’s hand inside her own like a talisman of protection, willing Cooper to just go the hell away. But the temptation of a snack was too great and the little girl wriggled free and bolted ahead, flinging her hand up in a frantic wave to get the After School program man’s attention. Felicity felt Cooper’s hand slide beneath her elbow.  
  
“We need to talk.” The flirtatiousness was gone from his voice.  
  
“I’m busy. And we have nothing to talk about,” she assured him through clenched teeth, trying unsuccessfully to extract her arm from his grasp. The reporter was turned away, pointing out something she wanted a shot of.  
  
“Don’t be like that,” he whined, tightening his grip. Felicity glanced around, looking for help, but Cisco was busy with a patron and camera shy Barry was hiding somewhere in the stacks. John Diggle often tagged along when the Fire Department paid a visit to the library, but at the moment he was nowhere to be seen.  
  
She tried to move closer to the group of children and their tv station guests but Cooper pulled her against his side so suddenly her shoes skidded on the tiled floor.  
  
“Is everything alright here?”  
  
It was a new voice, HIS voice, coming from behind Cooper’s shoulder. Darker and deeper than she’d remembered from their conversations in the library. Or her house.  
  
“Mind your own business,” Cooper snarled.  
  
“Let her go.” Quiet, but oh-so serious.  
  
Felicity could just see him over Cooper’s shoulder, looking only at her. She tugged against Cooper’s grip again with no success. A little whimper left her, because she knew what was coming. Above her Cooper smirked.  
  
“The last thing she needs is a smelly bum coming to her rescue.”  
  
He moved fast, just a hand darting out to separate her arm from his hold, an attempt to get his body between them, but Cooper twisted away and shoved her, stumbling, into the milling crowd of school kids. Almost at once John was there, and then one of his arms was around her while the other shepherded children out of harm’s way. She could hardly see over his giant arm, but the two of them were definitely still scuffling. She heard the reporter yell at the cameraman to start rolling. The kids had noticed too; squeals of delight and terror swelled in the air as they reacted to the sudden midday entertainment.  
  
John turned just in time for her to get a clear view of Cooper’s elbow connecting to Dewey’s cheekbone, snapping his head back and sending him down. Everyone heard the crack as his head connected with the tiled floor.  
  
“No!” she screamed.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
_The next time Oliver opened his eyes he was looking at Max, wide awake and sweating.  
  
“Ollie,” he whimpered. It had been years since Fuller had called him that. He sounded like a little kid.  
  
Oliver swallowed hard, still high and buzzing, but unusually focused thanks to the fear. “We gotta get out of here,” he murmured. He waved Max off as he looked over the room. One guy—the leader, he thought—was on a cell phone with his back to them, making demands. The smaller guy—Gritty? No, Gummy—hovered at his shoulder. The third guy, the giant, was just disappearing out the door to the hall, and though he pulled it closed behind him, Oliver could definitely see light around the edges of the door. It wasn’t closed all the way.  
  
“Think you can run?” Oliver asked very softly. Max’s eyes got even wider, but he nodded. They both shifted forward very slowly.  
  
Oliver held his breath, counted to three in his head, and launched himself for the door. He could feel Max at his back, crowding him, almost tripping him in his desire to get OUT. He hit the door with his shoulder and it gave way into a hallway filled with trash and not good smells. The giant was nowhere in sight, thank god, because the noise they’d made falling through the doorway had alerted the two in the room, who were now yelling.  
  
They tumbled down the hall pursued by shouts, Max pawing at him in an attempt to get past him and save himself. They mostly fell down a flight of stairs toward the front door, and just as escape seemed possible Max was pulled up short with a cry. The human wall had the collar of his coat in one meaty fist; Oliver spun around and saw the look of terror in Fuller’s eyes. On impulse he launched himself toward their captor’s face. Go for the eyes, he thought frantically, poking wildly and hoping to hit something. At the same time Max twisted and wriggled out of his coat. He fell to his knees with a cry and crawled forward until he could regain his feet. As soon as he was clear Oliver left off his attack and turned with him.  
  
They ran as fast as their drug-addled brains could make their feet go, turning blindly around one corner after another. The noise of Super Bowl partygoers was getting louder.  
  
“This way,” Oliver panted, pointing to the right as Max yelled “Here!” and waved a hand left. A shout from behind made them both jump; Oliver dived down his chosen street thinking Max was right behind, but by the time he turned back to check, he was alone.  
  
“Fuller, you stupid son of a—“  
  
Oliver stepped on an empty beer bottle that rolled and sent his feet above his head as he fell backwards onto the pavement. His head hit the ground and the world went black.  
  
_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Moira had slid to the floor, boneless, when they opened the door to the Bellman’s closet and revealed her son’s overnight bag. Somehow Quentin had hauled her and the bag into a quiet corner of the lobby conveniently sheltered by an oversized potted plant and let her process as long as she needed. The contents of the bag, if not pristine, at least looked unused. She’d run her hands over the clothes and unzipped the toiletries kit with shaking fingers while Quentin fished for clues, a receipt maybe, or a scrap of paper bearing a name or a phone number. But the bag had offered up no new information.  
  
Two days later they were no closer to having any idea what had become of Oliver Queen. Quentin had made himself such a nuisance at the Central City Police department that first day they’d finally sent him back to the hotel with assurances to call if they learned anything, though their promises sounded more like threats. None of the officers had wanted to say what they were thinking until one sergeant had finally lost his cool and suggested they check the local crack dens.  
  
So that was day two.  
  
The memory of the things she’d seen—and smelled—still made her shudder. They’d argued terribly about it, her going along, but in the end he’d given in with a sigh and a shake of his head. It had taken two showers to make her feel herself again.  
  
“What about a Private Eye?” she asked wearily from her corner of the couch in her suite. Quentin had come down from his room a few minutes before and flopped into an armchair with a mini bar bottle of vodka and the tv remote.  
  
“Hunh?” He squinted over at her and sighed.   “I don’t know. Maybe.” He sat up and hunched forward, elbows on knees. The vodka bottle was empty. “I don’t know what a Dick could do that we haven’t, but get one if you want.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to sound critical—“  
  
Quentin waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” He sort of flipped the empty bottle onto the coffee table to roll around and rubbed a hand up over his face irritably.  
  
The local news was on, the 5 o’clock edition, mostly just a blur of noise and video of places unfamiliar to them, but something to stare at mindlessly for a minute anyway. A midwestern-looking blonde anchor was speaking; Moira read the headline—“Breaking News: Homeless Man Assaults Local Fireman”—with casual interest. And then a clip of footage of two men fighting—one wearing a navy blue pea coat--appeared on the screen and her heart stuttered. Nearby Quentin’s phone chimed with a text.  
  
She sat forward slowly. “Quentin...”  
  
He was staring, slack-jawed, at his phone. “It’s the Central City precinct. They have him.”  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Amidst the chaos that followed—the reporter broadcasting her breaking news live, the EMTs and then the police arriving, the children milling about as if they were at a carnival—Felicity was hustled back behind the desk by Diggle and ordered to stay there. Cisco glued himself to her side and watched it unfold; by the time emergency services arrived Barry had drifted back behind the desk to take up the spot on her other side.  
  
“I should check on him,” she murmured once. “We’ll have to file an accident report...” But Cisco shook his head no.  
  
Cooper was nowhere to be seen and neither was John, so they were probably together, maybe around the corner in the children’s section. Felicity wanted very much to go find him and give him a piece of her mind, but the reporter keeping an eye out for any additional details gave her pause. The library board would not want to see her part in this drama blasted over the evening news.  
  
Two EMTs and a fireman were kneeling by Dewey’s unconscious body. Felicity bit her lip; he’d been out several minutes by now, but no one was rushing to put him on a stretcher, so maybe that meant he wasn’t in immediate danger. Still, she needed to know if he was okay.  
  
Helena the reporter had her back to them, her microphone raised to her mouth but frozen, waiting for her next live segment. The light on top of the camera blazed to life, her cue to launch into her speech. She recounted the incident, paused while the footage of the struggle replayed in the studio, and then began talking again. She glanced in Dewey’s direction and then took two quick strides that way as the cameraman followed. Suddenly she was pushing her mic over the shoulders of the first responders, trying to get a statement.  
  
“Do we have the assailant’s name?” she asked loudly. The microphone pressed further into the circle.  
  
“John Doe,” one of them muttered with a shrug. Behind him Helena tapped her toe in an agitated rhythm. Felicity wanted to haul her back by the hair.  
  
“He’s coming around,” another voice said. Everyone kneeling around him shifted back to give him space; Helena used the opportunity to lean further in.  
  
“How are you feeling? Do you have a name? Why did you attack that fireman?” The questions were coming thick and fast. From behind the Circulation desk Felicity balled her hands into fists.  
  
“Back off,” an EMT ordered. “We told you, he doesn’t know his name.”  
  
Felicity heard him cough. And then she heard his voice.  
  
“My name,” he said slowly, with a groan of pain, “is Oliver Queen.”  
  
Cisco made a noise of surprise as Felicity gasped. Barry reached for her arm to hold her steady. There was a murmur of voices as the emergency workers asked him questions, then slowly they shifted back and up, bringing him to a stand with them and pushing Helena and her damned microphone out of the way.  
  
The police opened a path through the gawking children and patrons—including a tattooed man, a skinny guy with a bag of candy, and a dude the size of a mountain—and slowly, with one person on either side of him, the man formerly known as Dewey was escorted out of the building.  
  
Felicity watched him pass, wide eyed and speechless save for mouthing “Oliver” once in wonder. He couldn’t possibly have heard her, but at that moment he looked up from the floor, seeking her out with those impossibly blue eyes. His gaze remained locked on her until he’d been shuffled out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure my italics worked completely once I pasted it into AO3. Just know if Slade’s in the section it’s a flashback.

Oliver Queen stared out the window from his seat on his mother’s jet. From his vantage point he could watch a member of the ground crew, bundled up in a reflective parka and stamping in the cold under a fluttering of snowflakes, signal their pilot to begin the roll back.

There had been paperwork at the precinct—there was always paperwork, he remembered that well from his other brushes with the law—but Moira had been determined to take him home as soon as possible, even if it meant getting in late to Starling. They hadn’t even let him change; he’d been wearing these clothes for three days, hadn’t taken them off since Felicity washed and dried them. He hadn’t showered since then either, and the idea of sitting in this nice seat, or hugging his mother, made him squirm with shame.

He no longer felt like himself.

Detective Lance was somewhere behind him, drinking, it sounded like. The clink of ice in a glass gave him away. His mother wouldn’t stop staring at him like he’d vanish into thin air if she blinked. In his current physical state he couldn’t let her touch him, and in his current emotional state...well, he wasn’t ready for any soul-bearing questions or recounting of events. The jet began to pick up speed on the runway. Oliver closed his eyes to feign sleep, but not before he heard Lance groan.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_He blinked as he awoke, stiff and cold, with an ache behind his eyes and a throbbing headache that made him want to throw up._

_“Wha—?”_

_Even saying that much hurt so badly tears sprang to his eyes. He rolled over and wretched onto the ground and then spat. Nothing looked familiar, but maybe that was just his view, stretched out as he was on the pavement next to piles of garbage. His right foot was almost touching the corner of a bright orange dumpster._

_He heard a cough behind him, dry and raspy, followed by a weary expletive. Another wave of nausea hit him before he could identify the source. He emptied the rest of his stomach as his world faded once again to black._

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He must’ve slept after all, because the pilot’s fuzzy sounding announcement that they were beginning their final descent brought him to. His mother, he noticed immediately, was still watching him, so he managed a smile for her sake. She murmured something but he shook his head to indicate he couldn’t hear and turned away to stare out the window into darkness.

The mild, moist air of the Pacific Northwest hit him at the top of the stairs and stopped him cold: He was home. He felt Moira hesitate behind him.

“Oliver?”

He couldn’t vocalize his thoughts but something else occurred to him. The name took a second to materialize on his tongue. “Max. Fuller,” he added for clarification, not bothering to look back. “Did he...?”

“He’s safe.” Clipped. Angry, but not directed at him. “We have things to talk about.”

Oliver almost sighed, but too many other emotions were dammed up behind it and threatening to spill out; he held his breath a moment to keep it under control.

“Not tonight, okay?” He finally turned to meet her eye and waited for her acknowledgement. Lance was behind her, looking elsewhere, trying his best to be invisible, and despite their stormy history Oliver couldn’t help liking him for it.

Two cars were waiting on the tarmac, their Rolls and Lance’s police-issued sedan. Moira paused at the bottom of the stairs despite the light rain suddenly slanting past the airport lights and waited for the Detective to reach her.

“Quentin—“ Her throat closed up. He wouldn’t look at her but he took her hand somewhat awkwardly and squeezed.

“Eh, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

She squeezed back fiercely for a second and he finally looked up with a lopsided smile.

A few feet away Oliver stood next to the passenger side door with his hands in his pockets, trying to make himself touch the handle. Their driver swooped in to take care of it with an apology, which only made it worse.

“Thank you, Mike,” his mother inserted into the silence smoothly. “Oliver?” A question, because he still hadn’t moved.

He felt her hand lay very softly against his back and that set him into motion, a twist of his shoulders to shake her off as gently as possible as he bent to get in. He slid to the far side of the leather seat, didn’t stop until his shoulder touched the window.

They were pulling out onto the road before she spoke. “Are you hungry?”

Oliver watched the scenery pass his window; there had been a Subway sandwich at some point during their time at the police station, and though that had been hours ago he still felt full. He suspected his stomach had shrunk from two weeks of severely reduced calories.

“I’m fine.”

“Oliver, I think you should eat,” she pressed.

“Eat,” he heard Felicity say, with her signature head tilt, and suddenly he missed her so much it made his chest hurt. He tipped his head against the window and closed his eyes, ignoring his mother.

A long, excruciatingly hot shower later he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was too dark, too quiet, too climate controlled. Turning the nightstand lamp on eased the tightness in his chest. He realized he hadn’t heard Slade Wilson’s dry cough for hours. (Hadn’t thought of him at all, which filled him with shame.) His nights—save the one he’d spent in Felicity’s snug little house—had been full of the sounds and smells of men in great desperation. The low-voiced arguments over personal property that occasionally rose to a shout, the moans and cries of the ones detoxing against their will, the mutterings of the mentally ill, it had all combined into a nightmarish lullaby that now, weirdly, he somehow missed.

He found himself chuckling darkly and wondered at it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_He came to the second time sitting up, his back more or less against a brick wall and one arm propped on a bag of trash, although this time he seemed to be inside a building instead of out. The throbbing in his head worsened for a second and then tapered off, but not before he’d dry heaved one last time._

_"Keep it off my shoes, Kid.”_

_"Nothin’ left,” he gasped, pleased that he could manage coherent speech._

_The figure squatted in front of him and his brain registered a scruffy black beard, wild hair, and coal black eyes._

_“ _You look like you’re in the wrong part of town. What’s your name?”__

__He squinted in concentration as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. Now that the throbbing in his head had lessened he realized there was a blank space in his brain—he could’ve pointed out the spot on his head if someone asked—where that information should be. This felt like a shake-your-head-vigorously-to-reboot-it moment, but he was positive that would make him throw up again, so he only blinked a couple of times, slowly._ _

__“I don’t...know,” he said after a moment._ _

__That’s when the fear kicked in._ _

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

He woke before dawn and knew he was no longer alone. The thin, delicate body curled up on top of the covers near his shoulder seemed at once completely foreign and as familiar as his own skin.

“Thea,” he whispered as he turned his head. Her eyes opened immediately; she hadn’t been asleep.

“You didn’t come see me when you got home.”

"Mom said I should let you sleep.”

She thought about that a second. “Where have you been?”

He slid his arms up under his pillow and lay there on his stomach, looking at her. “It’s a long story.”

“Were you going to sleep all night with the light on?”

Oliver sighed, an awkward lift of his shoulders that doubled as a shrug. “Yes,” he said simply.

Thea stared at him for a long, long time with those eyes that always made him feel like her soul was older than the world; he waited, the patient big brother, for them to close before he went back to sleep.

She was gone the next time he woke; a soft, watery light filtered through his curtains. He showered again, because he could, though the guilt from the luxury of it was hardly worth it.

Raisa met him at the door to the dining room, and if he had so far avoided his mother’s arms he more or less fell into the housekeeper’s, holding her close and resting his cheek atop her head for just a second. Moira didn’t miss the action, but neither did she comment.

Thea was there too, tucked up into her chair and grinning at him; her eyes shifted to the buffet practically groaning under the weight of its offerings. Eggs, done three ways, every breakfast meat imaginable, fruit, breads, a piping hot waffle iron.

“Or chef said he’d be happy to make you an omelette,” his mother supplied quickly, no doubt thinking his silent staring was a sign of disappointment.

His spinning mind tried to calculate how many people this could feed but the answer made him queasy with embarrassment. When he glanced at his sister he noticed she was still grinning; she found the Prodigal Son routine hilarious. He remembered how they’d both laughed at that seafood buffet scene in the movie Castaway. It seemed far less funny now.

Oliver put a dab of eggs and a piece of dry toast on his plate and sat at the furthest end from his mother’s disapproving look.

“No bacon? A waffle, at least.”

She was trying to keep her voice gentle, he could tell. He made sure to look her in the eye when he answered, to show her he was trying too. “I haven’t had much meat lately, and syrup...it’s pretty rich. I think I should ease back into it.”

He added a reassuring smile he didn’t feel and she nodded. They ate in silence for several minutes, until he checked his watch and raised an eyebrow at his baby sister.

“Aren’t you late for school?” “

It’s Saturday, Ollie.” The ‘Duh’ was implied.

He dropped his eyes to his plate and realized he hadn’t thought about what day it might be for a long time. Where he’d been it hadn’t really mattered.

__\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_ _

___“You can’t remember anything?”_ _ _

___The man—Slade Wilson, he’d said—was clearly agitated that he couldn’t be more cooperative, but there was just a black hole where his memories should be. Slade sighed, disappointed._ _ _

___“You do too many drugs, you rot your brain. Can’t even remember what you took, can you?”_ _ _

___“I...I don’t know. I don’t even know if I do drugs.”_ _ _

___He heard the tone of his own voice and was ashamed to admit it sounded whiny.  Above him, Slade chuckled and then hacked a dry cough._ _ _

___“Trust me, Kid. You do.” He tipped his head and grinned enough to show off the gaps where teeth used to be. “Or you did. Back when you had money.”_ _ _

___N _ _ _o money? That was an alarming thought. He patted his pockets frantically, searching for a wallet, or an ID, something to give him some clues. A memory jog, that’s all he needed. Someone else coughed and spat nearby and Slade turned to nod at a figure shuffling past in the near darkness. He was reminded once again that he had no idea where he was or if he belonged in this neighborhood. He felt like street instincts would’ve kicked in by now if he had any. But he just felt lost and alone.____ _ _

______Slade cleared his throat loudly. “Well Kid, I gotta get going. They don’t like us using this place overnight. Afraid we’ll start fires. I’ll see ya around, maybe.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Panic seized him as he thought about being left by himself. He has no resources and no memory. How would he get along if he was alone too? “Wait! Can I...would you...?” The sentence died unfinished on his lips. He swallowed hard. " _ _ _ _ _ _I need help.”_  _ _ _ _ _______

______Slade Wilson considered him with something like a predatory grin on his face. “Don’t slow me down, don’t talk unless I say, and don’t make eye contact with anyone but me. Got it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He nodded as the relief flooding through him threatened to become tears of gratitude. He hauled himself to his feet and swayed while he waited for the dizziness to pass. “Mmf...guh.”______

______A warning finger floated up in front of his nearly crossed eyes._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Not—“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“ _ _ _ _ _ _On your shoes,” he groaned. “I got it.”_______ _ _ _ _ _

___________\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In the end it was Thea who saved him from having a conversation with their mother by bouncing into his room after breakfast and suggesting they go to the zoo. A sarcastic quip was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it down and agreed to go. It seemed as good a place as any to sort through the events of the last few hours. Days. Weeks. It all made his head spin.

He hesitated in the doorway to the garage, not because they hadn’t asked permission, or because technically he had no driver’s license, but because of the obscene number of choices he once again had for transportation.

“What’s the matter?” his sister grumbled after running into the wall of his back.

“Nothing,” he finally decided. “Where’s Raisa?”

Her ancient but tidy Honda Accord spent its days in the courtyard off the service entrance at the back of the mansion and made a far better getaway car than any of the luxury vehicles from his father’s collection. Thea thought it was hilarious.

She chattered through the entire drive, catching him up on the happenings in Starling—more specifically, at Starling Prep—since he’d been gone. He let her talk, content to sit in silence and relish being with her. She’d turned her phone off—their mother would have to be told what they’d done, but Raisa had graciously agreed to fall on that particular sword—and his phone was still MIA, so there was nothing likely to interrupt their time together.

He could only stand and gape when the lady in the ticket booth gave him the total for two zoo admissions. Thea poked him in the ribs with her elbow. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he turned and leaned down toward his little sister.

“Um, I don’t have any—“

“God, Ollie, you’re such an idiot.” Thea dug into her tiny crossbody and presented a credit card to the ticket agent with a flourish and an eye roll.

They were halfway through the African Savanna exhibit before she brought it up.

“So, you gonna tell me where you’ve been?” she asked, squinting up at him in the flat winter light.

Oliver scanned the area around them until he found a bench; he led the way and sat, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and sighed. He was surprised how fast the story poured out of him, even the bad parts, though he kept some of the details to a minimum. His description of Slade made her laugh; he told her about the gang of librarians who tried to help him recover his memories, but found his mouth wouldn’t form Felicity’s name. Not yet.

The actual events leading right up to the blackout that had left him nameless and homeless were quite vague. He remembered Super Bowl village as a blur of music and alcohol. Max had definitely been there, and later a guy the size of a mountain and another dude with a funny name, but that was about it. Thinking about it made his head hurt, and it was sore enough already from the floor of the library.

“I’d probably be in jail right now if mom and Detective Lance hadn’t already been in Central City looking for me,” he finished with a shrug.

What little sun had been out was now gone behind a bank of steel gray clouds, making it suddenly feel a lot colder. Thea looped her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You really didn’t remember anything?” she asked softly. “Even me?”

The question broke Oliver’s heart. Tears pricked against his lashes; he blinked into the air.

“I didn’t...I didn’t even remember _me_. But sometimes I would see something that would trigger, I don’t know, a feeling, I guess. A tickle of a memory, maybe. And one of those things was a memory of you.”

He looked down at the top of her head. “Or of us.”

She looked up at him. “Really? What was it?”

“I love you as high as I can hop,” he mostly whispered, then waited for her to catch on.

Thea wrinkled her nose. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

Oliver huffed in exasperation. “Seriously? Big Nut Brown Hare? Little Nut Brown...” He trailed off when she only squinted at him like he was crazy.

“Okay,” he chuckled finally, standing up and pulling her with him. “You were pretty little, maybe you don’t remember. But you loved those rabbits,” he assured her with a shoulder nudge that almost knocked her over and made her laugh.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quentin Lance didn’t like to answer his personal phone at work, but he made an exception when he saw the number.

“Moira? Is everything okay? Is Oliver—“

“He’s fine. Well, I assume so. He and his sister disappeared right after breakfast. I’m told they went to the zoo.” He heard the sadness in her voice and wanted to wring Queen’s neck with his bare hands.

“Look, Moira,” he tried, with optimism in his voice he didn’t feel, “he’ll be alright. He’s gonna need some time, an adjustment period...” Quentin trailed off, not sure what else to say. He remembered being a young man, of course, but he’d never been a parent to one.

She sighed into the phone. “I know. I’m sorry to bother you, I just...you’re the only other person who would understand.”

“Yeah, I know.” He dropped his gaze to his desk and lowered his voice a notch, painfully aware of how many other tough guy police officers sat around his desk. “I’m glad you called.”

The line between them was silent a moment, awkward, but not in a bad way. The kind of awkward that kept both parties hanging on to hear more. Moira spoke up first.

“Well, I should probably let you go.”

“Make sure he sees a doctor. Gets checked out. He bumped his head pretty good there.”

“I made an appointment this morning.” Her voice was warm with gratitude. “Thank you, Quentin.”

He nodded vigorously, as if she could see.

“You’re welcome. Don’t mention it.” “I’ll...talk to you later.” Her voice was suddenly bright, and there was a question embedded in that statement; he told himself not to look too hard.

“Yeah, sure. Goodbye.”

Quentin set the phone down and stared at its blank screen for a full minute.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

____________The days and nights were a bewildering mix of tedium and fear. His head throbbed constantly, and no matter how hard he tried no memories before the minute he woke up next to that dumpster came back. Slade kept him close, made sure he had something to eat, coached him in keeping his head down but staying vigilant. After that first wretched night he managed to get them into shelters for a cot, a few hours of sleep, and a bottle of water. The lights always stayed on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________At times he thought of going to the police and asking for help, but what if he had been on the run when the injury happened and he inadvertently turned himself in? A warrant for his arrest would tell him who he was, maybe, but not in a good way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Slade poked him to wakefulness one morning and then stood and swung his ever-present trash bag of junk onto his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“C’mon, Kid. Gotta surprise for ya.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Somewhere along the way he’d acquired a backpack, and a toothbrush, and a blanket. Knowing he finally owned something was both a blessing and a curse; it helped him feel more human, but now he had something someone else could steal. He shoved the childish blanket covered in rainbows into the bag quickly, because Slade was already moving between the cots toward the entrance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It was a long walk; they had to stop once so Slade could hack and wheeze. The cough seemed to get worse every day, or at least didn’t get any better._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Are we going to a hospital?” he quipped. It had taken several days but his head was no longer splitting, and he finally felt comfortable enough to be playful._____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________“Fuck no,” Slade gasped good naturedly. “We’re gonna go figure out if you can read.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He paused at the entrance to the library, suddenly scared and suspicious. He was dirty; nothing but his teeth had been cleaned since...well, he no idea how long it had been, which would be a funny thought if it was happening to somebody else. What if he offended someone? Or was asked to leave? Slade wasn’t waiting for him to decide; he shuffled through the automatic doors and into the warmth of the library, and after a couple minutes of indecision the anxiety of being left behind pushed his feet to follow.___________  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	7. Chapter 7

The penlight flashed at and then away from each of Oliver’s pupils. 

“How’s your appetite?”

He said “Okay” at the same time Moira said “Not good” with that tone in her voice. His eyes flicked to his mother in time to catch her mouth thin to a worried line. Over her shoulder, leaning in the corner with her arms crossed, Thea snorted. 

The doctor glanced at the chart in his hands and back up at Oliver. 

“Well you’ve had at least one recent concussion, probably two, since you say you’ve suffered memory loss.”

He suppressed an eye roll at this revelation, kept his expression carefully neutral. There was no need to add yet another lecture to his mother’s arsenal. 

“Given your history of blows to the head—“ He was talking about Oliver’s years in contact sports, always a bone of contention between his parents—“I’d say you have a higher-than-average chance of suffering from traumatic brain injury. Even if you seem to have recovered from these latest hits, damage could still occur down the road. I’d like to schedule an MRI. Have a look-see.” The doc flipped the file closed decisively and stood; he wasn’t waiting around for a debate. 

“Thank you doctor,” his mother said flatly as he left the room. Oliver stared into the corner opposite Thea and waited for the lecture, but Moira only sighed. 

“Next stop is replacing your driver’s license, and then I’ll take you both to lunch.”  
The tone of her voice let them know just how fun that was going to be. 

She led the way down the hall out of the hospital, brisk and efficient, her bag held securely in the crook of her arm. Thea lagged behind long enough to create some space before knocking an elbow against her brother’s side to get his attention. 

“As much as I appreciate getting out of school in order to be your emotional support human,” she muttered, “you’re gonna have to talk to mom.”

“I am talking to mom.”

“You’re answering questions when asked. Not the same thing.”

Oliver stopped dead in the hallway and reached out for his sister’s elbow to turn her to face him.

“Thea—“

“You have to tell her what happened to you, Ollie, just like you told me.” He had both of her elbows now, cradled in his palms, and her arms were gripping his forearms. He had a sudden memory of being her age, which would’ve made her about four, and he was holding her just like this and swinging her around in a circle so fast her legs flew straight out behind her. Now it felt more like they were holding on to keep the other from drowning.

“Tell her your story,” Thea repeated softly. “She’s been through so much lately.”

From the corner of his eye Oliver saw his mother stop at the end of the hall and turn back to wait for her children. He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to tell her.”

————————————————————-

Felicity paused over the cart of DVDs ready to be shelved to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the dull winter sky. It had been hard to concentrate these last few days, or to find any joy in her work. She flicked a glance at her co-workers; Barry was busy doing Barry things, but Cisco was definitely keeping an eye on her while trying not to look like he was keeping an eye on her. He was worried. 

It had taken forever to clear the library of the crowd that had gathered that day after the shock and surprise of a fight that was filmed live and thrown onto local tv. Felicity couldn’t stop shaking; they left most of their evening tidying and shelving for the next day and only counted the money and locked up. Cisco and Barry didn’t even have to ask where she was headed, they just got into her car and rode along in silence. 

None of them had ever had the occasion to step foot inside the main Central City precinct; they’d sort of bunched together with Felicity in the lead as they entered, like they were waiting for an audience with the great and powerful Oz. She remembered with a cringe how her voice had shaken when she’d spoken the name “Oliver Queen” out loud for the first time.

“He’s not here,” the desk officer had stated bluntly, not even really looking at them. “His mom showed up to get him. He even had his own personal police detective.” The officer huffed a laugh and smirked, but it was impossible to tell whether he was disgusted or impressed. “Flew outta town in a private jet.”

Cisco was already googling his name by the time they got back to her car. 

The ringing phone returned her to the present; she craned her neck to see the name on the caller ID, but before she could reach for the receiver to handle Mr Johnston’s call—maybe it would be aliens today, or perhaps con trails—Cisco was picking up. She shot him a grateful look and the corners of his mouth ticked up in reply. 

—————————————————————

They were halfway through lunch when Moira stiffened momentarily, her eyes going hard. It was quick, but Oliver had been looking right at her when it happened. His bite of salad went unchewed for a second while he watched her. 

“What is it?”

“Marianne Fuller just walked in.”

“Max’s mom?” He resisted the urge to turn around and look. “Is he with her?”

Moira’s mouth thinned to a hard, angry line. “Max is out of the country. He left almost immediately after getting home from Central City.”

Oliver frowned in thought. “Did he tell you, about me?”

“He never said a word. I had lunch with Marianne once we suspected, but she wouldn’t say. I knew she was hiding something.”

“Suspected what? Wait. We?”

Her eyes dropped to her plate very briefly, but he caught that too. “Detect—Quentin. I reached out to him for help.” She’d stumbled over his name; that alone was very unlike her. Next to him, Thea lowered her fork to stare.

Oliver could feel his pulse quicken. “Quentin Lance...HATES me. Why would you—“

“I told you we have things to talk about—“

“WHAT is going on? The truth, please.”

“You think we could do this somewhere besides, I don’t know, the middle of Table Salt?” Thea butted in. People were beginning to look their way. Moira’s eyes shifted to her daughter before she nodded. 

“We’ll talk when we get home.”

The rest of lunch was uneventful, until Moira led her children out of the restaurant via Marianne Fuller’s table. A fake smile lit her face as she looped her arm casually through Oliver’s and smiled down at the table of society ladies. 

“Marianne, how nice to see you again. You remember my daughter, Thea. And Oliver, of course.”

Marianne Fuller’s eyes flitted from mother to son once before she managed a smile. 

“Of course. Hello again.”

“Mrs Fuller.” Even without the explanation from his mother he knew he should be pissed. “Thank Max for the trip to Central City. I look forward to seeing him again.”

She nodded, her eyes faintly glazed as she tried to work out what was happening. “I hope you had a good time,” she managed. 

Oliver smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. 

“It was unforgettable.”

Moira squeezed his arm once and they walked on. 

—————————————————————

She’d watched the video footage a hundred times; that didn’t stop her from clicking on the link again. The police had copied the library’s security footage of the incident after the fact, but the cameraman had been right in the middle of the action as it had unfolded. She wasn’t in any of the frames, having been gathered up by Diggle just before that reporter had noticed something was about to happen. The memory of Cooper’s grip on her arm before Dewey—Oliver—intervened made her shudder. He didn’t shy away when Cooper came at him, and if he didn’t act like a trained fighter he at least didn’t look afraid. 

Felicity was almost to the end of the tv footage when she felt a presence at her back. She turned her head enough to identify Cisco at her shoulder. 

“You watching this again?”

She suspected it was meant rhetorically, so she didn’t answer. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he said then, the way you might try to comfort someone who’d just lost a loved one. “He’s—“

He broke off suddenly as his hand came up over her shoulder to point at the screen. 

“Wait. Go back a sec.”

“What did you see?” 

“Maybe nothing...there. See that guy?”

“Guy? You mean giant, right? Holy smokes.”

Cisco reached around her for the mouse and clicked over to a file marked Security Footage. He opened the folder labeled Plumbing.

“Look familiar?”

Felicity stared for a long moment. “It looks like the same guy who who stole the—“

“Pipes from the men’s crapper,” Cisco finished for her, nodding along. “And look at this guy.” He clicked back over to the frozen image from the tv report. 

“The skinny one? Yeah...I think you’re right.”

“And tattoos. There’s the third guy,” he added triumphantly. “Bingo.”

He lifted his palm for a high five and Felicity obliged him, then went back to studying the two images on the screen.

“What kind of idiots...”

Cisco winked at her. “Exactly.”

————————————————————-

They were in the formal living room, just like they’d been the night his mother had broken the news to them about their father’s sudden death. It made Oliver shudder. 

Moira didn’t sit, but he wished she would. Her sentences were clipped, but there was no hesitation as she told him—and Thea, tucked up into the corner of the couch with her arms folded across her stomach protectively—about the call she’d received from his phone, the ransom demand, and the threats. 

By the time she had finished he was sweating and sick to his stomach. Thea spoke first.

“Mom, how could you...”

Moira visibly flinched, waiting for the reprimand.

“...live with this secret all by yourself?” she finished. “I wish you’d told me. I could’ve helped, maybe.”

Their mother’s face softened and she shook her head slowly. “I couldn’t burden you with that. Not so soon after—“ She drew in a big breath—“your father. Besides, once I told Quentin it was easier to bear.” 

Oliver, staring into the middle distance as he processed, didn’t miss the change in his mother’s tone of voice when she said the detective’s name. He pushed up carefully from the couch. 

“Oliver?”

He didn’t miss THAT tone of voice either, and threw a hand out to ward her off as he walked past her.

“I need some time. Please.”

She sighed. “I’ll need you to be back for dinner. Quentin will be here, to talk to you.”

He rounded the corner without answering.

————————————————————-

Oliver collapsed sideways across his bed and slept through the afternoon, waking slowly only when Thea climbed onto the bed and shook his shoulder. 

“Dinner,” she said, somewhat petulantly. 

“Wha’s a matter with you?” he mumbled. His mouth felt awful.

“He’s here. I’m not going down there alone.”

“Okay. I’m comin’.”

The nap had left him with a headache; he splashed water on his face and stumbled downstairs behind his sister. He almost tripped over her when she jerked to a halt in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Thea! What the he—“

What he saw brought him up short too. 

Moira Queen was standing at the stove, an apron tied over her cashmere sweater and slacks, stirring a large pot. The detective was leaning on the counter across from her, a bottle of beer in hand, and he was saying something funny, because she was chuckling. 

“C’mon, Mo,” he said then, laughing himself, “admit it. You were a badass.”

She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, a sure sign that she was warmed by the compliment; neither of them had noticed they were no longer alone. 

“You would’ve done the same, for your girls.”

“I woulda done worse,” he assured her with a wink and a tip of his bottle. 

“Ahem,” Thea said loudly, clearly done with eavesdropping, or the adult interaction, or both. Oliver knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t seem to close it. 

Quentin sat up straight, the remnants of his smile still in place. Their mother’s face was flushed, either from the steam in the pot or embarrassment at being caught. For the sake of his sanity Oliver chose to believe it was the cooking.

“Quentin, you remember Thea. And Oliver.”

She smiled at her children, but there was a wariness in her eye, a worry that they were about to say something to ruin the moment. 

“Hi,” Thea offered finally, her arms crossed over her chest. Oliver nodded stiffly when the detective’s gaze shifted to him. 

“What’s going on?” Oliver finally managed. He used his body to nudge his sister into action, then followed her around the island to stand where he could keep an eye on everything. His mother smiled; to the uninitiated it looked breezy, but he could see the warning there, to behave himself. 

“I’m making chili,” she explained lightly. There was a moment of stunned silence from her children.

“I didn’t know you could make chili,” Oliver finally managed.

“I didn’t know she could cook,” Thea added softly from the corner of her mouth. Oliver nudged her with his elbow. 

“It’s your grandmother’s recipe. I do remember my way around a kitchen, you know.”

“Grandma Dearden?” Thea looked interested, despite her best efforts. Moira nodded confirmation.

Oliver had nothing more than vague memories of that side of the family; they had only gone to visit them in the suburbs a handful of times, and his grandparents had never been to the mansion as far as he knew. Both of them had passed away before Thea had even been born. 

“I think we’re about ready,” Moira decided, breaking him away from his thoughts. “Get the bowls, please, Oliver. Thea, there should be crackers somewhere.”

They ate at the table in the breakfast nook. Oliver found himself tracing the “O” he’d started carving into it as a kid before Raisa had caught him and given him hell for it. The chili was good; Thea said as much out loud, in a rather shocked tone of voice. 

“Oliver, Quentin would like to ask you some questions. About Central City.” 

He looked up from his bowl and met his mother’s eyes. She had that look again, the one asking him to behave himself. To not embarrass her in front of her friend. He swallowed his bite around a sudden lump in his throat. 

“Okay.” His eyes shifted to the detective. “I don’t remember much about that night.”

“Were Fuller and his friends with you?”

“At first.” He dropped his spoon against the side of the bowl and stared at the table, remembering. “We were partying in Super Bowl village. We’d hooked up with these girls who had a hotel room—“ His eyes flicked to his sister, but she didn’t look shocked. “The plan was to crash with them.”

“The Embassy Suites Downtown?” Quentin confirmed. Oliver nodded. “It’s where we found your luggage.”

“I never got back to the hotel. Fuller—Max—and I ended up in a bar. I don’t know which one. He had made contact with a, um, dealer, and the next thing I knew we were in some apartment or something.”

“Just you two?”

Fuller, me, the dealer—he had a funny name, like a nickname, but I don’t remember what it was—and a big guy. A giant.”

“Big dude, ya say?”

“O-lineman material.”

Lance nodded. 

“Everything’s a blur after that. There might’ve been a third guy, later, when they made the call to—“ he looked at his mother instead of finishing. “The big guy left the room and I decided we had to make a break for it. We made it out of the building but we got separated, me and Max, and after that...”

Oliver shook his head. That was all he had until Slade Wilson found him.

“You think Fuller set you up?”

He thought long and hard about that. 

“No,” he decided. “He was scared shitless. Sorry.” The apology was for his mother. “He didn’t know what was going to happen any more than I did.”

“Then why didn’t he try to find you? Or go to the police?”

Oliver frowned. “You’d have to ask him that.” He glanced between Lance and his mother. “HAVE you asked him?”

“He’s conveniently out of the country.” The tone of Moira’s voice made it clear what she thought about that. 

“I’m planning on making him a Person of Interest so we can have a little chat once he’s back stateside,” Lance assured him. “In the meantime I’m contacting all the other frat boys on that trip to find out what happened after you disappeared.”

Oliver blew out a long breath. Thea was still sitting beside him, staring at nothing, overwhelmed. He knew the feeling. 

The doorbell broke them all out of their own thoughts. 

“Could you get that, Oliver?”

His gaze shifted from Thea to his mother. 

“Raisa will get it.”

“I gave her the night off.”

The corner of his lip twitched once in annoyance but he clamped down on his emotions and headed for the foyer. 

Walter Steele was on the other side of the door, still dressed for work and carrying a briefcase. His face lit with a warm smile when he recognized Oliver.

“It’s been too long.”

“Hi Walter. Good to see you.”

He led the way back to the kitchen and its strange supper party, curious to see how the interim CEO and his father’s closest friend would react to the sight of his mother eating homemade chili with a cop. 

“Walter,” she said immediately, rising to cross the room and take his hand inside both of hers. Oliver decided Detective Lance was even more interesting to watch. 

“Good evening, Moira. Sorry to interrupt. I should’ve phoned.”

“Nonsense. You’re welcome anytime.”

“I only need a moment of your time. It’s about Thursday.”

Moira smiled. “Certainly. Come into the study.”

Oliver watched her draw the apron she was still wearing over her head and lay it on the island, but not before she’d flashed Lance a brief smile. Then she led the Englishman out of the room. 

He remained standing near the island, not really interested in resuming a dinner conversation with Quentin Lance. Thea looked like she’d suddenly decided chili was the most interesting thing in the world. Lance stared past Oliver’s shoulder to the empty hallway and then cleared his throat.

“That a work thing, then?”

Oliver worked very hard to keep a smile off his face and shrugged lightly. “That’s probably a work thing.”

Lance nodded once. He pushed back from the table and picked up his empty bowl, but seemed uncertain what to do next. In a moment of compassion Thea held out a hand for it, so he passed it to her with a brief smile. 

“Well I, uh, better get going. Tell Mo—uh, your mother—“

He was almost even with him already, but Oliver shifted his weight to make himself a subtle obstacle. Lance halted. 

“I appreciate you helping my mother, but we can handle it from here. Detective.”

Lance’s eyes flicked up to his and locked. 

“I’ll see ya ‘round, Kid.”

Maybe it was the stress and uncertainty of the past few weeks, or the looks he’d seen all evening passing between Lance and his mother, or even being called Kid by someone who wasn’t Slade Wilson, but whatever it was caused a sudden cold rage to fill Oliver Queen. 

“You listen to me,” he growled. “I don’t know what you two got up to in Central City, but it ends now. She is in mourning. She’s fragile, she’s not thinking straight, and she doesn’t need you confusing her further.”

Lance leaned closer and lowered his voice to a gritty hiss. “Fragile? Your mother visited crack dens looking for you. She went about her life here not knowing if you were alive or dead. After losing her husband she spent two weeks thinking her good-for-nothing son was dead too. Don’t talk to me about fragile.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And stay the hell away from my daughters, you piece of shit.”

Lance pushed forward, brushing his shoulder roughly as he passed on into the hallway. A moment later the front door slammed. Oliver’s head swam with the man’s words; he turned toward the door to the garage, his shoulder banging the fridge as he staggered out, seeking fresh air and escape.

He ignored his sister when she called his name. 

———————————————————-

“Taco soup? Some...casserole thingy?” Felicity turned to look at Diggle, leaning on her kitchen island. He squinted at her, which wasn’t an answer but also kinda was. She sighed. “Well I don’t know. That’s all I’ve got.”

“No chili?”

She shook her head, deciding not to tell him it had been eaten a week ago by the man formerly known as Dewey. 

Felicity closed the freezer door and wandered over to sit next to him and rest her chin in her hand. They were both kind of pathetic this evening. 

“Did Lyla call today?”

“Yeah. They’re fine. Went to the beach today, she said.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t go too.”

He shrugged. “That’s what happens when your wife has more vacation than you. We’d rather save mine for the summer anyway.” He grinned suddenly. “And it’s just four days with my mother-in-law, so...”

They both chuckled. 

“What about you?” He bumped her with his shoulder.

“Me? I’m good. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“C’mon. You haven’t been fine since you found out your homeless guy has a real name.”

“What are you talking about? He found his way home. That’s what I wanted. It’s all I wanted. And now he’s home, and happy, and taken care of, and it’s good.” She took a big breath to recover from her ramble. “I’m good.”

The look on his face said he didn’t believe her, but he also wasn’t going to say it.

“You haven’t heard from him?”

Her shoulders slumped. “No. But we didn’t exactly exchange phone numbers, either.”

Dig nodded; it seemed too obvious to point out a google search of the library would take about four seconds. 

“Get your coat,” he said instead. “Screw leftovers. I’m taking you out for pizza.”

———————————————————-

The screech of drapes opening hurt almost as much as the flood of sunlight they let in. Oliver rolled away and groaned into his pillow. 

“Enough, Mister Oliver.” Meester Oleever. “It is time.” 

“Time for what? Oh, god.” Raisa was shaking his shoulder, returning him face-up with a strength her small stature belied. 

“You are going to QC today.”

“What for?” He groaned again when she pulled the covers off him.

“The dedication of Applied Sciences building, and announcement of Mister Steele as CEO.”

“That’s Thursday.”

“Today is Thursday. You have one hour.”

“Shit.”

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the way his slim cut dress shirt hung on his frame, which he could dismiss until he tightened his belt to a new, never-used hole. 

Thea and his mother were waiting at the bottom of the stairs; they were both frowning. 

He spent the ride into the city attempting to piece together the last few days. He’d dedicated most of it to forgetting everything that had happened recently, and if Max Fuller and his gang were no longer available he had plenty of other one percenters and wanna-be’s to spend his evenings with. He’d avoided drugs but hit the alcohol hard. 

“I hope it was worth it, the partying, and the women,” his mother said quietly. It was the only thing she said, that whole ride, the bitterness in her voice meant as much for the ghost of his father as him, he suspected.

Two days gone. Two whole days—and Monday night besides—of oblivion. He’d been an idiot. Again. But she was partly wrong in her suspicions.

“There were no women,” he ground out, one hand shading his eyes from the winter glare through the window. 

The limo let them off on the sidewalk in front of the skyscraper. Robert Queen had always insisted on being let out to walk up the front steps to his building, rain or shine, to show the world he wasn’t too good to use the public entrance. There were days, during the recession, that it gave his security fits, but he got his way, as always.

Oliver finished his water bottle and grabbed another as he scooted out of the limo behind Thea. A small knot of reporters stood on the stairs beneath the podium that had been set up in front of the entrance where Walter Steele was waiting to receive the blessing of the Queen family to man the helm of his best friend’s legacy. 

God, it was a lot of stairs. 

His mother and sister were already halfway up when he spotted the shaggy-haired man in a greasy-looking duster. He might’ve been holding court, sitting so majestically at the top of the first set of steps, surrounded by a couple of trash bags and a crude cardboard shelter. Oliver veered off course to approach him. 

Moira was almost to the podium when she realized the reporters were turned, not to watch her family’s approach, but to look at something behind and below her. A quick glance back told her Oliver was no longer following. She stopped and turned.

Below her, in a designer suit that suddenly seemed a bit too large, her son held out a hand to a hairy lump of a man ensconced in garbage. As she watched, her blood gone cold, Oliver took a seat next to the homeless man and handed him a water bottle, and a moment later, just as easily, accepted something back—a granola bar, maybe—from the depths of one of the bags. 

She stood frozen as, one by one, the reporters descended the steps to get a better look. 

———————————————————

He was almost invisible in the half light before dawn, leaned against her car in a brown leather jacket. 

“Mister—Oliver!” She pressed a hand to her heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

His breath puffed into the grayness. 

“You’ll freeze out here,” she scolded. He huffed a laugh.

“It’s really not that bad. Trust me.” He shifted his weight off her car. “Can I...?”

Raisa nodded. 

“How did you know I would be going out this morning?” she asked as she pulled out onto the road and they left the gates at the end of the drive behind. 

Oliver shrugged. “It’s Friday. You make an early run into the City Market on Fridays. I used to come with.”

Raisa nodded with a smile. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

The car was silent for several more miles. 

“You are different,” she said finally. Oliver realized she was the only one who hadn’t asked him what happened in Central City. Something told him she still wasn’t asking. 

“You were on the news,” she continued. “Last night.”

“The dedication?”

“The homeless man.”

Oliver nodded once, turned and looked out the window at the pine trees blurring by the window. “I wasn’t thinking. I just...did it.”

“I’ve never been more proud of you.”

He swallowed hard. Managed a smile. Then his story came out to her, in bits and pieces as his voice would allow. He felt safe revealing to her the things he’d held back from every other telling. Raisa had grown up in the USSR; she was familiar with things his mother and sister couldn’t even fathom. 

When he got to the part about the library he said Felicity’s name for the first time since he’d left Central City, his fingers clenching on his knees. They were almost into the city before he ran out of things to say.

“Even after everything,” he concluded, “I can’t be sorry it happened. But coming back I thought...”

“It would go back? The way it was?” She laughed gently. “You can never go back. You are different person.”

“I thought I’d recognize it, at least. But I don’t.” Oliver shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

Raisa let another mile roll under the tires before she spoke again. 

“Perhaps you’ve found a home somewhere else.”

He stared out the windshield for a handful of heartbeats, feeling the blood whoosh in his ears at the revelation. He lifted his watch and checked the time as if he was under water. 

“Raisa,” he said slowly, “could you take me to the airport, please?”

She hesitated, then nodded. 

“Promise me you will call your mother.”

—————————————————————

Felicity yawned hugely, her face ducked against her shoulder to hide it, then went back to sorting the picture books on the shelving cart. 

“You’re gonna fall asleep in your dinner,” Cisco warned from his spot at the desk. 

“I’ll have time for a nap.” I hope, she added to herself. She’d slept terribly the last couple of nights, and the gray winter weather all week hadn’t helped.

“Wish I had enough money for a plane ticket,” she muttered to no one. 

“Where would you go?” Barry asked with a grin. 

“Aruba,” she decided after a moment, closing her eyes and smiling at the picture in her head. 

A throat cleared to her left. She turned toward the sound, her mouth a little ‘oh’ of surprise at getting caught daydreaming.

“Whoops! Sorry. How can I—“

The words caught in her throat at the sight of the designer jeans, the leather jacket, and the blue, blue eyes. 

“Felicity Smoak? Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”


	8. Chapter 8

As great as it sounded to have a private jet at one’s disposal, it did take some advanced planning to be able to use it. Faced with the prospect of going through his mother to get the clearances needed to get it off the ground, Oliver Queen chose to take a crash course in commercial airline travel instead.

“Are you a priority member?”

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“TSA Pre-Check?”

“I’m guessing no.”

“And how many bags will you be checking today?”

His mouth opened and closed once. 

He bought a bottle of water and a Sports Illustrated inside security, just to have something in his hands. 

He’d managed to get on an 8am flight, so by late morning he was touching down in Central City and beginning to think about how to get from the airport to the library. He settled for a cab, though it felt like a rip off as soon as the driver pulled into the crawling interstate traffic. 

The neighborhoods gradually began to look more familiar until finally they were pulling up in front of the building and the driver was motioning for his credit card. 

Oliver stood on the sidewalk for a full minute, despite the cold, preparing himself. As the doors slid open he had the sudden fear that this might be her day off; he knew he couldn’t find her house again unaided. But as he walked up to the counter, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans self-consciously, he saw her. 

Her eyes were closed and she was smiling into the air. He caught Cisco looking at him—staring, really—speechless, so he cleared his throat to get her attention. 

“Whoops! Sorry. How can I—“

She stopped there, her mouth making a perfect little “Oh” of surprise. It was hard to look away. 

“Felicity Smoak? Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”

Sensing the onset of an awkward moment Cisco moved first, hopping off his stool and stretching out a hand. 

“Hey, buddy. Nice to see ya!” 

“Hi, Cisco.”

Barry was there next, and by the time all the pleasantries had been exchanged Felicity had managed to pull herself together. 

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He shrugged. “Surprise.”

“It sure is.”

She was studying him, really looking at him. Reconciling the man she’d known before with the one standing before her, he thought. 

Somehow he felt less worthy now that he was no longer homeless. 

There was a bit of small talk, made awkward by the presence of Cisco and Barry hanging on every word. Oliver longed to just grab her hand and take her away someplace to talk. To tell her everything he’d realized before dawn in his housekeeper’s Honda. 

“Could I...I mean, would it be possible...if...”

Cisco grinned and elbowed Felicity lightly. “Look at that! Usually you’re the one talking in sentence fragments!”

Oliver swallowed hard; his face was turning bright red. “Could I take you to lunch?” he finally blurted.

She started to smile, he saw it, a spark flickering to life, but just as suddenly it faded away.

“I’ve...already had my lunch break.”

Cisco looked skeptical. “Have you, though?”

“I clocked out.”

“Technically, yes.” Barry tipped his head and closed one eye. “But all you ate was a granola bar because you forgot your lunch again. So...”

She glanced at the clock and bit her lip. “I have to go do story time at Brightwood Head Start in twenty minutes.” Her eyes shifted to Oliver. “You could come with.”

“I’d like that.”

Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. 

“Okay then. I’ll go get my stuff.”

—————————————————————-

He remembered the car but had forgotten how fast she drove. He wanted to ask if they were late, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings if this was how she just...was. 

All the other things he wanted to say—the things he’d been rehearsing throughout the plane ride, the reason he’d asked to see her alone—stuck in his chest and would not be moved. Felicity was silent too, until they pulled into a parking space in front of the Head Start building.

“Would you mind grabbing the crate in the trunk?” 

It was full of picture books. Oliver lifted it easily and followed her into the building, grateful to be of help. She had a bright green tote bag slung over her shoulder and led the way with long confident strides up the sidewalk. 

The room they were shown into was bright and cheerful, each wall painted a different bright color, the floor covered in a rainbow of carpet tiles. Felicity headed to the far end where steps led to a carpeted area that could be called a stage if it had a curtain. She approached the steps and took a seat two from the bottom, gesturing for Oliver to do the same. She hadn’t really looked him in the eye since they’d said their hellos in the library. It was starting to make him squirm. 

“Would you rather read or wear the hats?” she asked, her eyes flicking to his face and then settling on the collar of his shirt. 

“Uh...hats?” was all he got out before the doors at the back of the room opened and a line of noisy preschoolers tumbled in, but Felicity must’ve taken his verbal fumbling as an answer because she nodded and passed the green bag to him. 

Ten minutes later he was digging into it for yet another hat to cram onto his head while Felicity read “Do You Have a Hat?” out loud to their pint-sized audience. This one was large and floppy, with a giant pink flower smashed onto one side. It went on top of a beanie, a flat cap, and a baseball hat. A giggle rippled through the crowd like the Wave at a football game, then cycled through again as a louder laugh.

Felicity shushed the group before she turned the page and glanced at him with a small nod. More hats, that meant. Oliver dived in and pulled out a red plastic fireman’s hat.

“Oh, erm,” he said, intelligently, because it immediately reminded him of the encounter with that asshole Cooper, just one more thing on the long list of items he and Ms Smoak needed to talk about. Several little boys yelled “Fireman!” at the top of their lungs, so he knew there was no going back. He smooshed it down on top of the floppy hat and held it there with one hand. 

Beside him Felicity snickered, and she wasn’t alone. A scattering of women—teachers, he thought, but maybe a couple of volunteer moms too—were gazing at him with shy little smiles from their chairs behind the students. He knew those looks well; he got them all the time, from young women in clubs, and older women in fancy restaurants or on one of his mother’s committees. It was both flattering and embarrassing. 

As if on cue a little hand in front shot up and waved wildly until Felicity called on the owner. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” the kid asked loudly. All the other children laughed, while the women sitting around the room turned expectant eyes on the visiting librarian. She froze for just a second. 

“This is Oliver. He’s just my friend.”

Her tone of voice stung a bit, he couldn’t deny it. 

After they reached the end of the book—and the bottom of the hat bag, thank goodness—the class joined her in a goodbye song everyone but him seemed to know and then they trooped noisily out to their next activity. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Kinda glad that’s over,” he admitted with a bashful grin. Felicity finally looked him in the eye and tipped her head in that way she had. He’d missed seeing it directed at him.

“That was just the first group.”

The doors at the end of the room rattled ominously with the arrival of the next batch of preschoolers. 

——————————————————————-

“Thanks, as always, Felicity.” The program director swapped out her crate of books with the new one they’d brought and stood holding the front door open for them to walk through. “This a new hire?” she added with a smile. 

“Just an observer,” Felicity clarified. “And a friend.”

The woman nodded and said goodbye. 

“That was fun,” Oliver offered as he nestled their gear into the trunk. Felicity paused with her hand on the lid to look at him. 

“Sorry to put you on the spot.” She grinned. “You were great though. The kids loved you.”

Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets, pleased and bashful. “So it turns out I have a little sister. Thea. She’s ten years younger than me, which explains why—“

“Guess how much I love you.”

He froze. “Wha—what?”

“The book. Guess How Much I Love You. You must’ve read it to her.”

“Oh. Uh, right. Yeah.”

It was Felicity’s turn to freeze, her face upturned to his and her eyes wide. Without thinking she’d laid a hand on his chest. She was close enough to...

“Wait. Did you think I was...confessing something just now? Not quoting a children’s book? Oh, that’s what it sounded like, didn’t it? Because of course I don’t love you, we just met. Well, not JUST met, just met as in we’ve just been introduced. To the new you. Or the old you, I guess. Original you? I don’t know—“

“Felicity!”

She stopped cold, her mouth still making the shape of the next word. Oliver smiled so big dimples appeared. She swallowed once, an audible gulp. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He scuffed a toe at the ground and suppressed a shiver at the biting cold. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He risked a glance at her; she was smiling.

Felicity chattered all the way back to the library, filling him in on the always-crazy happenings at the library since he’d been gone. It made him warmer than her car heater ever could. He’d missed her so much. 

She pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. “How long are you here?” she asked, back to not quite looking at him. 

Oliver inhaled through his nose and held it for a second before he spoke. Nervous. “I didn’t really plan this.” She looked at him sharply and he let the breath out. “I just had to see you.”

She looked like she was going to reply, but only stared at him for a long moment before she opened her door and got out, leaving him no choice but to follow.

“Felicity?”

She was already on the sidewalk, heading for the employee door; she turned and shrugged. 

“I need to get back to work. Can we talk later?”

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll see you in there.”

——————————————————————-

Felicity stopped inside the employee door and fell back against the wall with her eyes squeezed shut. Cisco was on her almost immediately.

“So, how did it go?” He used his best Iago the parrot impression. 

“Oh frack oh frack oh frack. Why meeeee,”  
she whined in reply. 

Cisco’s face fell. “That bad, huh?”

“Nooooo,” she moaned, still not opening her eyes. “No, it was fine. It was sooo fine. Oh god.”

“I’m lost. What happened?”

Felicity threw out her hands to stop him, or herself, or both. “Nothing. It’s fine. Everything is JUST FINE. I gotta get back to work.” To prove it she pushed past him to the break room to shed her coat and purse. 

Barry had popped his head around the corner from the Circulation desk to check on them; he exchanged a worried look with Cisco before slipping back out of sight. 

—————————————————————-

Oliver passed the time that afternoon reading magazines, flipping through rows and rows of cds, and finally, with an hour to go til closing, settled down with a suspense novel he’d picked at random from the New Arrivals shelf. He tracked Felicity as she moved around the space, staying busy helping patrons and shelving books. She passed near him several times and always smiled, but she also seemed to be in a little too much of a hurry to stop and chat. 

The fifteen minute warning announcement came over the speakers and he shifted in his seat to locate her. She was perched on a stool at the Circ desk helping a patron, so he slowly gathered his coat and book and wandered closer to wait until she was free. It was a good opportunity to watch her in action, being friendly and helpful and always cheerful. She shook her head quickly, making her ponytail dance, then pushed her glasses in place with her fingers and smiled as she said goodbye to the person she’d been helping. Oliver had to fight back a grin at her cuteness. 

With eight minutes to go til closing he finally stepped close enough to the desk for her to notice. She glanced down briefly and then back up and smiled softly. 

“Hi. Sorry I haven’t been able to talk.”

“It’s been busy,” he supplied for her, letting her off the hook without a second thought. 

“How’s the book?”

“What?”

She nodded at the hardback in his hand. 

“Oh, right. It’s pretty good.” Oliver waved it around once, not sure where to put it since he couldn’t check it out. She held her hand out for it and he handed it over, forgetting he had been holding his place with a finger. She slipped hers into the same spot unconsciously as she took possession of it, and as he pulled back their fingers brushed. Caught together between the pages the touch felt spectacularly intimate; goosebumps erupted on his arms and he heard Felicity draw in a sharp breath. 

Cisco swooped in to save the day. 

“How long you in town, Oliver?” he asked, leaning against the counter on his elbows. 

“I’m...not really sure. I didn’t really plan this.”

“You have someplace to stay?”

“Not yet. But—“

“Dinner plans?”

“No...”

“Cisco,” Felicity warned. Oliver’s eyes flicked to her and saw her face go pink. “We have—“

Cisco hacked a giant fake cough into his fist. “Oh man, I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Cisco,” she warned again through clenched teeth.

“Hey,” he said then, as if it had never occurred to him before, “maybe Oliver could take you. I wouldn’t want to spread whatever this is. Yuck.”

She said “no” at the same time Oliver said “take you where” and Cisco’s face lit up, fake illness forgotten. He looked like he wanted to fist pump. Felicity huffed in exasperation.

“There’s a thing, tonight,” she explained. “A Library Foundation Gala. Don’t think you have to—“

“She’s getting an award,” Barry piped up out of nowhere. She shot him a look of death.

“It’s no big deal.”

Oliver was at a loss. “I...I would, I mean...I’d like to, but...” He looked down at his jeans and plaid button down, the outfit he’d flown on a plane in and all he had for however long he was staying. He cursed his seemingly incurable impetuousness. 

Cisco’s smile widened. “We can fix that, can’t we Barry?”

“You guys, we have like two hours,” Felicity reminded them. Her eyes looked a little panicked, and Oliver was stabbed with a sudden fear that she really didn’t want to go with him. But Cisco was already heading to get his coat. 

“Plenty of time. You close up and we’ll deliver him to your house in an hour and a half!” He was positively giddy. 

The two librarians stuffed him into the back of Barry’s vintage VW Beetle and Cisco ordered him to drive to the mall. It felt a bit like a good natured kidnapping. 

Twenty minutes later Oliver found himself being shoved into a dressing room with an armful of black suits and white shirts. He wondered what his little sister the fashion plate would think of him trying on clothes from a store with “Warehouse” in the title. 

“Damn,” Barry said under his breath when Oliver pushed back the dressing room curtain and showed them the one he’d chosen. He stepped forward and turned, red faced, at Cisco’s insistence.

“It doesn’t even need to be altered,” Barry murmured, while Cisco shook his head in wonder. 

“It’s the athletic build,” he finally decided, sounding both irritated and envious. 

They piled back into the car with the suit bag and Cisco gave directions to his grandma’s nearby neighborhood.

“We’ve gotta cut the tags off, open the pockets, all that. Plus you’ve gotta get dressed. Plus I’m STARVING,” he chattered.

The house was warm and bright and crowded with people. Cisco turned Oliver over to the care of his aunties and ushered Barry into the kitchen for something to eat. Oliver endured the coos and clucks of the motherly women who ironed his shirt, clipped loose threads, tried to undress him, and eventually settled for straightening his tie, all in a blur of lightning-fast Spanish. 

At 6:15 Cisco pushed him out the door toward the car with Barry hurrying behind, clutching a paper bag of leftovers to his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish,” Oliver explained. “I just nodded a lot. I hope that’s okay.”

Cisco looked non-plussed. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.” He paused dramatically at the car door. “There’s a good chance you agreed to marry my cousin Marisol while you were in there.”

Oliver rode silent and wide eyed all the way to Felicity’s house.

————————————————————

Quentin took the plaza steps up to Queen Consolidated two at a time. 

Someone had wisely called ahead to let Security know he’d be coming, but they wouldn’t have been able to stop him anyway. The ride up the elevator took forever; 35 flights of stairs were no longer an option for him, thanks to that scare with his heart a couple years ago. He concentrated on the numbers lighting up as he ascended. 

She’d called just a few minutes before, her voice high and panicky and unlike anything he’d ever heard from her. It was an anxiety attack, no doubt about it, but for the life of him he couldn’t get out of her over the phone what had triggered it, so he’d snagged a cop car from the motor pool and used the lights—damn protocol—to get across town. 

He looked rapidly left and right as he stepped out of the elevator. His eyes fell on a young woman emerging from an office at the end of the hall, her eyes wide with fright, and he knew it had to be Moira’s assistant; he had seen that look of shock and fear so many times during his career. 

She was sitting on a low leather couch the color of cream, folded in on herself, her body shaking uncontrollably. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of her. 

“Moira.” He said her name as softly as he could. “You need to breathe, Mo. C’mon.”

Quentin was aware of how raspy and working class his voice sounded in this setting, just as he had that day in her fancy living room with her goddamn tea set and her pearls, before she’d led him to the worn wooden kitchen table that felt like an echo of his own childhood. She’d begun to let him into her world that day, or maybe allowed herself to revisit her roots, which looked more like his than he’d ever thought possible. 

“C’mon, honey. Deep breaths.” He had her hands in his now, holding them with warm, steady pressure, wanting to pull her into his arms to get her to match the rise and fall of his own chest but hyper aware of her assistant hovering close by, and the ridiculous glass walls of this high rise office. 

“Quentin,” she finally gasped, her eyes crawling up from a distant spot on the floor to find him. 

“I’m here. I gotcha. What is it? What’s wrong?” Calm and soothing, memories of his beat cop days flooding over him and making him miss them, sorta. 

Moira gulped once. “Oliver.” 

He dipped his head to try to catch her attention again. “Has something happened to him?”

Behind his shoulder the assistant spoke up. “He’s left town. He went to Central City.” By the tone of her voice he could tell the EA had no idea why that was significant. “Thea called, worried about him. He’s not answering his phone. Mrs Queen checked with mansion security and they figured out the housekeeper took him to the airport before dawn. She didn’t mention it because Oliver’d promised to call.”

“Can’t you radio the pilot? Make him turn around?”

“He flew commercial.”

A pool of white-hot rage was building in his belly, but Quentin kept it pushed down, knowing if he went off like he wanted he’d scare Moira further away. 

“Moira. Listen to me. I’ll make some phone calls, put some guys out there on it. We’ll find him. We’ll get him back, Mo, but I need you to breathe, okay?”

“Moira? Is everything alright?”

A very smooth, very cultured, very British accent hailed them from the doorway. Quentin didn’t have to turn and look to know QC’s newest CEO was on the scene. He ignored the question, knew by the murmured conversation that the EA was filling him in. 

Quick, measured footsteps crossed the room and came to rest behind him. The kind of footsteps used to staying calm in emergencies. Footsteps that sounded like money. 

“Moira. Can you hear me?” Velvety smooth and kind and gentle. “What is it? What can I do?”

“Quentin,” she said again, only this time a little stronger, and no longer a plea. She was letting this guy—Wendell? Something with a W, anyway—letting this guy know that he, Quentin, had it handled. It filled him with warmth and gratitude. He might not be a billionaire, or college educated, or cultured, but he was good at this. He could fix this. 

“I’ll get him back. Sit tight.”

The EA swooped in with a glass of water for her boss as Quentin stood, so the Brit walked him to the door. 

“Thank you, Detective.” He held out a hand. “Walter Steele.”

Walter, that was it. Quentin took his hand.

“I am grateful for your help,” he added. “Oliver means a great deal to all of us. Please let me know if you need anything. All of Queen Consolidated’s resources will be at your disposal.”

Quentin tried for a smile that wasn’t pained, but he wasn’t sure he pulled it off. “Uh, thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Walter escorted him all the way to the elevator like the nicest guy in the world. 

————————————————————-

Of COURSE her mother would have to call when she was running late, wearing only her shaper and her biggest padded bra and smarting from a mildly disfiguring curling iron burn on the back of her neck which she was attempting to disguise by dismantling her updo.

“Mom, this is really not a good—“

“Felicity, are you getting ready for a DATE? DO YOU HAVE A DATE?!?”

“Mom. Mom. Mommmmmm. Stop screaming. It’s just the Library Gala. I told you about it.”

Ecstasy deflated to disappointment immediately. Felicity sighed inwardly. 

“Oh. Well, maybe you’ll meet a cute guy there.”

Felicity thought of the cute guy currently on his way to her house and swallowed hard. “Uh, I doubt it. It’s just a bunch of librarians and civic leaders.”

“Civic leaders have money,” Donna informed her knowingly. “Some of them.”

“Yeah, well.” There was really no good comeback for most of her mother’s observations. “I really gotta go. Love you.”

Donna left three wet kissy noises in her ear and hung up. 

————————————————————

The zipper stuck halfway up and she’d just discovered it was impossible to buckle the straps on her shoes while actually wearing the dress. It was not an ideal time to answer the door. 

Felicity shuffled over anyway and let them in, the three amigos, one breezy, one bumbling, one stiff and nervous in a suit—Holy Google he looked good—and all of them smelling faintly of tamales. 

“Could you...” she trailed off as she presented her unzipped back to Barry, but Cisco waved him off with a superior air and did it himself. Oliver only stared. 

“What’s up with your shoes? Here.” Cisco knelt and took care of those too with the beleaguered air of an all-knowing butler. “You kids ready for a night of fun?” he asked when she was finally put together. Barry held her coat out to her with a shy smile. Oliver had to shuffle out of the way so they could get to the door. 

“Don’t forget to check the weather line tomorrow,” Barry reminded Felicity as he headed out the door. “Night, Oliver.”

“Got it,” she promised. “Night, Barry.”

Just as they were disappearing out into the frigid night Cisco turned and winked broadly. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.” Like a Stooge. Oliver huffed an embarrassed laugh and Felicity rolled her eyes. When the door had closed she pivoted on her heels to her date.

“Don’t pay attention to him. Hi.”

“Hello. You look...” 

“Frazzled?”

“Perfect.” He sighed deeply. “You look perfect.”

She blushed prettily as she fussed with the buttons on her black wool coat. “You look pretty great yourself. Cisco and Barry did a good job.”

“Thanks. Cisco’s aunts helped me get dressed.” He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows in a way that told the story for him and made her laugh. 

“I bet they loved you,” she teased as she led the way outside. 

“Pretty sure I’m marrying into the family,” he confirmed as he trailed behind her to the car. 

She was quiet during the drive, and even at this stage in their acquaintance he knew that wasn’t normal. Was this nervous silence, or reluctance to spend the evening with him? Oliver held himself very still and wished fervently to be back, just the two of them, in her tiny house with a pizza and her DVR. 

Felicity was busy thinking the same thing. 

The gala was being held in the main library downtown, an old marble giant with a million steps to the main entrance, probably built by a 19th century robber baron. Somebody like his great-great grandfather, Oliver thought sourly. Felicity knew lots of people; everyone complimented her in a surprised tone of voice—that ‘Look at YOU’ way women had that always made him eye roll internally—it was such a back-handed compliment. He thought she looked amazing every day, even without the extra makeup and the smoking hot dress. It never occurred to him they might be saying it because of him. 

Felicity plastered on a smile and tried not to fuss with the dress, although continually smoothing it down with her fingers was becoming her new favorite fidget. Though most of the people greeting her were executive level types that always made her nervous, there were enough friendly faces to keep her from babbling incoherently. Everyone she greeted did a sort of a double take. She was pretty sure it was the arm candy hovering like a bodyguard just behind her left shoulder. He’d bumped against her so many times as the room filled he finally decided to stay there, warm and solid.

It felt really nice.

She chose a table near the back with people she didn’t really know, not because she was looking forward to meeting new people but because she knew after they’d all done the initial round of introductions everyone would stick to conversing with their own date. 

Date. 

Oh my god, she did have a date. Bringing Cisco would’ve just been a fun night out with her bestie, but this...THIS. Was. A. Date. With a hot guy. Her mother would die. Not that she’d ever tell her, of course. God, they’d be able to hear her all the way from Vegas—

Beside her Oliver cleared his throat. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Perfectly fine, why?”

“You’re, um, babbling. A bit.”

Felicity stared in horror at her water glass. 

“You mean everything I was just thinking I was also SAYING?”

“Well I don’t know if it was everything, but it was a lot. It was a lot of stuff.”

“Oh frack, I’m sorry. I have this habit—“

“It’s okay, Felicity.” He had a genuine smile for her. “I don’t mind.”

She swallowed with a gulp. 

“Maybe you’d like a drink—“

“Yes. A drink would be great. Definitely a drink. Red wine, please. Thanks.”

“Right.” He chuckled softly as he got up. 

Initial jitters and awkwardness aside, Oliver knew how to behave himself in formal settings. He waited patiently in line at the bar, was polite and charming with the small talk, and overtipped the bartender. He was turning away with a drink in each hand when he saw Cooper Seldon across the room. 

He was decked out in the full fireman dress uniform, though his gloves were in one hand and his hat was under his arm. He was smiling as he spoke with an older woman who had a hand on his arm. Oliver froze for just a second with indecision, because Seldon was standing between him and the table where Felicity still sat, oblivious, but then he shrugged and began the journey back to his seat. 

As he suspected, Seldon walked right past him with no idea who he was. 

Felicity was chatting with the woman to her left when he set her glass in front of her and took his seat. 

“Everything go okay?”

“Fine,” he replied with a smile. 

———————————————————-

Walter answered her cell phone when Lance called with the news. 

“Tell her Oliver’s phone is at least on this time. We were able to ping it—Yeah, that’s an actual thing. No, no, it’s legal. Listen, it looks like he’s in a library.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Central City PD’s sending a car.”

He stared numbly at the wall until all the polite thank you’s were finished.

“Nah, it’s nothin’. Hey, ah, tell Mo—tell Moira I’ll talk to her later. Yeah, yeah. G’bye.”

————————————————————

Dinner was pleasant, full of small talk and easy laughter. Even at a table full of people it felt like they were alone on a date in a restaurant. The entree was being served before their conversation became more serious.

“You went a pretty long time on not much food. That must’ve been scary. How’s your appetite?” Felicity asked as a server set her plate down in front of her. 

Oliver contemplated the food presented to him, already deciding he’d only have room for half the chicken. “Better,” he lied. 

Felicity chewed a few bites before she glanced over at him. “Do you remember everything? Did it all come back?”

“Most of it. There are pieces that are still fuzzy, but—“ his mouth drew up into a sardonic smile—“I was...heavily under the influence the night I lost my memory, so.” He shrugged. 

“We may never know,” she concluded. Oliver nodded.

Hearing her say “we” warmed him unexpectedly from the inside. 

Conversation across the table grew loud enough to draw Oliver’s attention; their table mates were speculating on snow totals. Someone joked that they should start a pool over how many days the schools would be closed and someone else groaned about not having enough wine to get through. He was turning to ask Felicity about it when one of her library co-workers stopped at her shoulder to say hello. By the time they’d finished their conversation the evening’s Emcee was making the announcement that the awards ceremony would begin in just a few minutes. 

“Refill?” Oliver offered as he set his napkin aside to stand. Felicity nodded.

“I think I’ll come with and use the rest room before this all gets started.” He obligingly pulled out her chair.

He loved walking next to her, watching people admire the two of them together. It felt right. Oliver leaned closer and bent toward her blonde head.

“I didn’t ask what you’re being recognized for.”

“Oh, it’s the after school snack program.” She blushed. “Other branches are starting to join in.”

“It’s a great program,” he assured her. 

They’d almost reached the bar when Oliver realized Felicity was suddenly not at his side. He turned to find Cooper Seldon with his hand on her arm, pulling her to a stop. He was leaning down, speaking softly to her. 

“Easy,” Oliver frowned, his focus on the other man’s grip. He shifted back toward them a step and decided a verbal warning was a better place to start than a right hook in a place like this. Felicity’s eyes, mildly panicked, darted to his. 

Seldon smirked at him. “Calm down, friend. We’re just talking.” He glanced back down at Felicity to continue talking before a frown creased his brow; he looked back at Oliver. 

“Do I know you?” The frown morphed as his brows rose in sudden surprise and recognition. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you dressed up a homeless guy to be your date. Jesus, Felicity. You can’t be that desperate to get laid, can you?”

Fuck it. He should’ve started with the right hook. Oliver stepped into the punch and dropped him like a tree between a gray haired lady in a sparkly dress and a man in a brown tweed jacket. 

————————————————————

The police showed up fast; too fast, he thought, for no more commotion than they’d caused. The two officers hustled Oliver and Felicity out into the lobby of the library, leaving Seldon in the care of the other partygoers. He was already sitting up, nursing his jaw and glaring. 

“Oliver Queen?” one of them said. 

“Officer, please. It was my—“

“I’m Oliver Queen,” he acknowledged quietly, cutting off whatever defense Felicity was starting to give on his behalf. There was no point denying what he’d done; there were too many witnesses. 

“We’ve been looking for you,” the officer continued. “A Detective Lance out of Starling City asked us to find you.”

Oliver’s pulse quickened. “Is something wrong?”

“You’ve been reported missing. Your family’s been trying to reach you for hours. And given your history of disappearing...” He trailed off with a knowing lift of his eyebrows.

“You didn’t tell them you were coming?” Felicity asked softly. Oliver remembered with a sinking heart what he had promised Raisa that morning. He fished in his pocket for his phone that had been silent all day. 

“Why didn’t I get their calls?” he muttered to himself. 

Beside him Felicity made a noise of surprise when she saw the lock screen of his phone. “It’s on Airplane Mode. Probably since your flight this morning.” He could only stare at it in silence.

The officer frowned. “Just call your mother, yeah?”

The other one’s radio crackled to life with an unintelligible message. He dipped his chin to answer and they both turned to go.

“Wait. So you’re not...we’re not...” Felicity spluttered in confusion. Oliver reached blindly for her hand and squeezed it once, hoping to shut her up. The officer who had done all the talking turned his head back. 

“Look. Everybody knows Cooper Seldon’s an asshole. He probably had it comin’. Just call it a night and stay away from him from now on, okay?”

“You should all be gettin’ home anyway,” the other one muttered as they walked away. 

Oliver veered away to the coat check and retrieved their things, curious again about all the cryptic talk about the weather. He asked Felicity about it as they prepared to push out the heavy wooden doors into the night. 

“What’s got everybody worked up about the weather?”

Felicity’s fingers froze on the last button of her coat. 

“You haven’t heard?” He gave her a look that said clearly he hadn’t. “There’s a storm system moving in tonight. If it stalls out over the Midwest it could bring three feet of snow this weekend. They’re calling it a hundred year storm.” Her eyes were wide. Oliver stared down at her for a moment, conscious of all the things he could think of to do while trapped in her snug little house for several days. 

Felicity’s gaze faltered under his attention. “These things are rarely as bad as they predict, though.”

Outside the streets were already covered with a dusting of snow.


	9. Chapter 9

“Would you like me to drive?”

“That’s a little sexist, don’t ya think?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“I was teasing. But really, which of us has more experience driving in snow?”

“That’s a good point.”

Felicity flashed a grin at him but otherwise kept her eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. 

The streets were quiet. It looked like most people had taken the storm warning seriously and were currently snug at home in their beds, prepared to ride it out. 

“Slade,” Oliver said suddenly. “I didn’t see him at the library today.”

Felicity’s hand left the steering wheel long enough to land lightly on his arm. “Sorry! With everything that’s happened today I totally forgot to tell you.”

She paused as she concentrated on taking a corner nice and slow. The lane markings were completely obscured and there were very few tire tracks to follow for reference. He turned his head to watch her profile, trying to remain patient until she could go on. 

“He was a mess the day after the police took you away. He wanted to go to the station to vouch for you. We told him we’d tried that and you were already gone—“

“Wait. You went to the police station?”

Felicity nodded without looking away from the road. “Cisco and Barry and I. They said your mom, and a...detective?” She shrugged. “They’d already claimed you.”

Oliver stared out the windshield and fought against the lump in his throat. 

“Anyway, he was really upset that you were gone. We could barely do anything with him. And then that cough got so bad we finally called an ambulance. He’s in the hospital, getting better. He’s gonna be okay.”

Relief washed over him. “Do you know which hospital? Maybe we can visit him tomorrow.” Felicity waved a hand at the view out her windshield and chuckled. 

“You’re an optimist. Anyway, I have to work tomorrow.”

“They’ll make you work in a blizzard?” 

“Sure. As long as the roads are passable we’ll be open. We have to be.” She glanced over at Oliver. “People need a warm place to go.”

——————————————————————

It was snowing heavily by the time they pulled into the alley behind Felicity’s house. As Oliver got out he watched her pull the car’s wipers away from the windshield so they wouldn’t be buried overnight by the rapidly accumulating snow.

“If the lot next door ever goes up for sale I’m building a garage,” she muttered to herself. 

She flicked the lights on inside the door while they both stamped the snow off their shoes. Oliver made a not-happy noise in his chest when he saw how wet Felicity’s feet were in her fancy high heels. 

“You need to get out of those things and dry your feet,” he suggested in no uncertain terms. 

Felicity peered down at the shoes and the two small puddles already forming under them. Bending over in this dress post-dinner was even less of a possibility. “I seem to be having the same problem I had at the start of the night,” she replied, resigned. His brow furrowed as he realized what she meant and before she could protest he was on one knee, unbuckling both shoes and helping her step out of them. 

“Thanks,” she managed, a little breathless at the chivalry. As he stood he picked the shoes up and offered them to her. “I should...change.”

“Okay.” He blinked once.

Felicity turned her head back to him as she walked away. “This would probably be a good time to call your mom,” she added, a gentle reminder.

Oliver winced but nodded. 

————————————————————-

“Hello? Oliver?”

“Hey mom. It’s me.”

He heard her sigh deeply through the phone and his chest constricted. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know—“

“Oliver, I just got you back.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t call, or, or leave a note? Something?” He could hear the edge in her voice that told him tears were coming. 

“Mom, I’m sorry.” A whisper. 

She took a deep breath. “You are twenty-four years old. You don’t need my permission to come and go, but after everything—“ Her voice caught and he heard her gulp. His stomach twisted. “After everything we’ve gone through this past year, I expect a little common courtesy.”

“I know. I should’ve—“

“Are you alright?”

“I’m...yeah, I’m fine.”

“You have someplace to stay? There’s supposed to be a storm—“

“I’m good. I’m safe. I’m not here to do anything stupid.”

She huffed a sigh. “What ARE you there to do, if you don’t mind my asking.” Her tone let him know she didn’t care if he minded or not. 

“I’m...I’m visiting a friend. Someone who helped me a lot when I needed it.” Silence hung between them for a moment. “I didn’t get to say thank you.”

“Well, I’m sure it didn’t take a plane ticket to say thank you.” 

Oliver let the sarcasm of her hurt wash over him. He couldn’t begrudge her the anger. He deserved it. 

“How long will you be out there?” she continued when it was clear he wasn’t going to bite back. 

“I don’t know. I just need a little time to process everything, and I’d like to do that here.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that okay?”

Moira was silent for several seconds. “Well I guess that depends on your friend, doesn’t it?”

Oliver nodded into the phone as an answer, his eyes pricking with tears. 

“Mom, thanks. I won’t...I’ll be careful. Tell Thea...tell her I’m okay.”

“It would be better if you told her yourself. You need to communicate, Oliver. All of us do. We’re all we’ve got.” Her voice did break that time, drowning the last word in a sob that left him breathless. A tear trickled down his cheek in reply. 

“I know,” he whispered. “I gotta go. I love you.”

His mother hung up without saying goodbye. 

—————————————————————-

Felicity undressed slowly, taking extra care to hang her dress up just so and put her shoes into their box instead of pitching them into the back of her closet. 

She was buying time.

He was here. And staying over, apparently. Holy shit. They hadn’t even discussed it, his accommodation, she’d just driven him to her house. In a snowstorm. With no sentences exchanged about where he planned to spend the night. She had to catch herself against the closet door as she momentarily spiraled. 

The hot guy never picked her. And Cooper Seldon didn’t count, she reminded herself sternly as she wobbled to the bathroom. He was a jerk disguised as a hot guy. Oliver was...he was...

Felicity lost her train of thought when she pictured him in that suit, all twinkly eyes and dimpled smiles as they talked like old friends at dinner. She couldn’t even be mad about missing the awards ceremony and the fallout she could expect from her very handsome date knocking out a public servant. 

That part had been extremely satisfying. 

But why was he HERE? Central City was a long way to go just to say thank you. He could’ve done that without a plane ticket, she thought wryly. She stared at herself in the mirror for a full minute before she decided to wash off the makeup. 

Clean pjs were a must; she paced her tiny bedroom while she debated what it said about her as a person that she didn’t know whether or not to put clean sheets on the bed. Besides the odd touch here and there they’d never had any intimate contact. Ugh. Intimate. The word sounded creepy in her head. Like “lovers”. LOvers. Her lips formed and re-formed the word as she swept up the small pile of clothes that never seemed to have a home and dumped them on the closet floor. 

Just in case. 

She ran a brush around the inside of the toilet and wiped down the counter, then sat on the edge of the bed and studied her feet, calculating in her head how long a groveling conversation to her own mother would take, approximately. The whole neighborhood would hear THAT conversation, she decided. 

When she couldn’t take it anymore Felicity crept to the door to listen for raised voices, or any talking at all really, but there was nothing. She took a deep breath and opened the door. 

He was sitting on her couch, head in his hands, but he stood up and turned toward her as soon as he heard her. 

“Hi,” she offered shyly. “Everything go alright? With your mom?”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “About as well as could be expected, I guess.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and shifted uneasily. “My mother brought it to my attention that I dropped in on you unannounced and also, basically invited myself to spend the night, which I see now was very inappropriate. So if you’d rather I stay somewhere else I can do that. I have money now, after all.”

As he slowed to a halt Felicity realized that was the longest string of words she’d ever heard him put together. It was practically a babble. When she didn’t answer right away his eyes lifted to hers, stricken. 

He thought she wanted him to go. 

“Oliver, you’re more than welcome here. Anytime. I hope you know that.”

He nodded, relief—and maybe something else—making his eyes watery. 

“The bathroom’s free,” she added, moving away from the door to give him space to pass by. “In case you want to change.”

He looked over himself with a wet chuckle and sniffed. “I never seem to come prepared, either.” He snagged the plastic shopping bag his jeans, plaid button down, and leather jacket had been stuffed into at Cisco’s grandma’s house and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Felicity to wonder what she should do while she waited.

It was time to admit that the couch hadn’t felt the same since the night he slept on it. It was his now, somehow, and in all the nights since she’d had trouble sitting on it without thinking of him. And then there was the one night she actually slept on it herself.

But she was never EVER going to think about that night again. 

Felicity ran a hand along the back of the couch with her lip caught between her teeth before snatching the Smoak girls blanket off of it and tucking it under her arm. 

————————————————————-

He didn’t see her when he stepped out of her room, which was quite a feat in such a small house. 

“Hey. Up here.”

Oliver took one more step into the room and looked up to find her sitting on the edge of the loft with her legs dangling over, obscuring the books on those shelves. He was both impressed by her boldness and concerned for her safety. Felicity flashed him a grin and waggled a pint of ice cream in the air.

“C’mon up.” 

She scooted back to sit cross legged and spread the blanket over her lap as he climbed the ladder, but when his forehead appeared she panicked and scrunched the smiling faces of her mother and herself up until they were only wrinkled blobs attached to feminine bodies on display below her waist.

Oliver’s eyes went there immediately anyway. 

“Is that you?” he asked, a little incredulous.

Felicity groaned. “Ugh. It’s so embarrassing. No, don’t look,” she pleaded with a laugh as he scrambled over the ladder into the loft and reached for the top edge of the blanket. 

“This is amazing,” Oliver declared, once he’d inspected the whole scene. He was grinning so big his dimples showed.

“Stop. It’s awful. She’s so embarrassing.”

“She’s not. Look how much she loves you.” He turned it around to show her. “I think it’s great.”

He looked genuinely pleased, and something else. Wistful, maybe. Felicity shrugged a reluctant acceptance of his praise. 

“Not everyone’s mother is that demonstrative.” He added the aside softly, and probably, she thought, mostly for himself. 

She flourished the container of ice cream and two spoons in an effort to change the subject. “Well anyway, she’d think you were the bee’s knees.”

“Really. The bee’s knees, huh?” Oliver seemed much more lighthearted now as he situated himself next to her and dipped in for a spoonful.

“Yep.”

“I like her already.”

They spontaneously clinked spoons in a toast and shared a laugh. The dimples were out again. Felicity feared she might swoon and fall out of the loft. 

A comfortable silence settled over her little house as they took turns spooning mint chip out of the container. The snow was beginning to accumulate on the sky lights above them, though it was so dark out it was hard to tell. Oliver broke the silence once to ask if they needed to run out for any last minute groceries but she assured him the Diggles had already stocked up the freezer in anticipation. 

“I’m glad you have them,” he said decisively as he paused his spoon to allow Felicity to finish getting her scoop. 

“They’re the best. I’m a lucky girl.”

She glanced at Oliver and caught him gazing at her; she almost dropped her spoon. 

“Mm!” Felicity made the noise during her next bite, the international sign for ‘I just thought of something’. Oliver watched her with interest. 

She waited to speak until she’d swallowed the ice cream. “The last time we were up here you—“ she overemphasized the “you”—“were wondering what kind of person you might be.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded faintly, not looking at her.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

She snorted out a giggle. “Well what have you discovered?” She leaned closer when his lips ticked up into an enigmatic smile. “What kind of person is Oliver Queen?”

He sighed deeply. “Oliver Queen has a lot to make up for. He’s let down his family countless times, he’s—“ he paused to find the word, gesturing with his spoon—“wasted his opportunity to get an education, and he’s medicated his way through his adult life up to this point.” He stared off the edge into the main part of her house for a moment before looking at her again. “He’s a fuck up, Felicity.”

Her brow crinkled as she studied him. “So you’ve had a wake up call. You’ve seen how far down the bottom goes. Now you have a chance to make changes. Be someone else. Be something else.” Her hand reached out automatically to fall on his knee and squeeze. 

For a second their eyes caught and everything in the world stopped as they stared. He blinked once, languid but sure, like he was telling her something specific with it. Felicity broke first.

“I, ah, have the video clip that was on the news the day everything went down. Would you like to see it?”

He stared at her another second longer before nodding assent. “Done with the ice cream? I’ll put it back.”

Felicity couldn’t help feeling, as she watched him disappear down the ladder from the corner of her eye, that her sudden change of subject had interrupted a potentially big moment. 

—————————————————————

Everyone on his block knew Quentin Lance was a cop, so he was no stranger to the late night knock at the door. He padded to the foyer in jeans and a police academy tee shirt, his feet bare, and flipped the locks without hesitation. 

Moira Queen was on his doorstep. 

She was smiling, after a fashion, though it looked more facade than anything else. A mask built from years of practice. 

“Moira, hey.” 

He hoped he didn’t look as surprised as his own voice sounded to his ears. He probably did. She didn’t stop smiling, but there was something about it...

“I told Thea I was staying downtown tonight because of the hospital benefit, and then I told the hospital benefit I was staying home with my daughter.”

Her voice had a detached, dreamlike quality to it, so different from the no nonsense woman he knew. Quentin rubbed his chin absently as he studied her, standing on his front steps with a large purse hiked onto her shoulder, pulled in to herself though it wasn’t particularly chilly. Her eyes, that was it. That was the difference. Her eyes didn’t match her smile. 

He held the door open for her without comment. 

Quentin wasn’t a slob by nature, but years of forced bachelorhood had softened the edges of his police academy-bred tidiness. He led the way to his living room and, looking at the condition of it from the perspective of his guest, suddenly found it wanting. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he chuckled as he leaned over to scoop up the laundry piled on an easy chair. “It’s clean.” He meant the laundry. Moira waved him away from it to let him know it didn’t bother her.

“I’m embarrassed to say how long it’s been since I folded a load of laundry,” she confessed. 

He abandoned the clothes to focus on gathering up the rather alarming number of beer bottles littering his coffee table. “These aren’t all from tonight.”

He hustled, clinking, from the room as she drifted toward the vintage record player in the corner. 

“This is quite a collection,” Moira called out. She used one hand to flip through the albums standing in a milk crate on the cabinet. Quentin’s head popped around the doorway to see what she meant. 

“Yeah. Apparently vinyl’s making a comeback. So Sara says, anyway. She’s cleaned me out of most of my good stuff.” He chuckled. “Every time she comes over she manages to steal another one.”

Moira held one up and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Oh, she didn’t get everything. May I?”

He smiled. “Be my guest. Can I...get you a beer?”

She laid the album down long enough to lower her bag off her arm and pull a bottle of wine out of its depths for him to see. 

Quentin’s head tipped in acknowledgment. “Okay then.”

—————————————————————-

“That reporter. Yikes.”

“Oh I know. I’ve stopped watching that channel in protest, even if they do play Stargate re-runs.”

“What re-runs?”

“Never mind. Not important. Here we go.”

They sat cross legged and shoulder to shoulder in front of the low table where her laptop sat. Oliver realized he was holding his breath—or rather, forgetting to inhale—and took a deep breath in through his nose as the camera swung around to cover the action. 

It was a far cry from the flashy, choreographed fight scenes in the movies. This was more scuffle than anything, a close quarters struggle amidst a sea of squealing and scattering school kids. Not cool and definitely not romantic. 

“I don’t see you,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the footage.

“Dig pulled me out of the way.”

He flicked a glance to her. 

Oliver’s cheekbone erupted in phantom pain when Seldon’s elbow connected with it on the video. There was a collective gasp in the room. He watched the homeless version of himself fall backwards and right after that the room erupted into shouts and one particularly high pitched “No!”

“That was me,” Felicity said, quiet. Pensive. His head swiveled to her but she kept her eyes on the screen, so he focused on the top of her head for a moment. Wanting to do more. Put an arm around her shoulders, or even kiss her. But he stayed still. 

———————————————————-

She looked different when he came back, Quentin thought. Smaller. He studied her as he crossed the room, his next beer in one hand and a highball glass—all he could find for her wine—in the other. Then he realized she’d kicked her shoes off and removed the tan colored trench coat he thought only tv private eyes wore, showing off her lean form in matching tan slacks and a blouse. Everything she was wearing blended with the color of her hair. The piece of clothing slightly out of place—though still monochromatic—was the cardigan she wore over the blouse. It was the only part of the ensemble that looked like it had been worn more than once. 

She’d chosen Gladys Knight. Her back was to him and she was swaying gently to the sounds of “Midnight Train to Georgia” with her arms wrapped around herself. 

“You have good taste.”

Moira glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. “Clearly so do you.”

His eyebrows ticked up briefly in acknowledgment and humility. She turned as he approached, smiled wryly at the offered glass, and let him lead the way to the couch. 

Their eyes locked over the glass as he did the honors; Quentin cleared his throat. 

“Have you, uh, talked to Oliver?”

Moira glanced away. “He called. He’s...finding himself, apparently.” 

Quentin made a face. “What’s her name?”

She chose not to answer but her eyebrows agreed with every word. 

“At least he’s not on the street this time,” she sighed. 

“I saw the, uh, local tv segment, the other day. From outside QC.”

Moira shook her head. “I don’t know what possessed him to do that. His father would’ve—“ She interrupted her thought to down a largish shallow of wine. “Well, he would’ve turned it into a PR opportunity, of course, but at home? In private?” She didn’t finish her sentence, but the answer was in her eyes.

“Has he talked about it? Those days in Central City? I’ve done my time as a beat cop. The homeless have it rough, especially in winter.”

“I think he’s talked to Thea. He’s only told me what you heard the other night.” She sighed, clearly frustrated with her son’s reticence. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t feel he can confide in me.”

Quentin’s hand dropped onto her arm gently, giving it a light shake. “He was homeless, Mo. It wasn’t a good experience. He’s probably trying to protect you.” He paused to take a swig of beer. “I know I wouldn’t want to tell my mother.”

Moira tipped her head, considering, as she stared off across the room. Save for the record playing, there was no sound for several minutes. 

“This is a comfortable couch,” she offered finally. It was leather, well-worn but still good looking; she ran a hand across it appreciatively. 

Quentin flashed a rueful grin. “I spent a lot of nights on this baby, toward the end. It was the only thing I asked for in the divorce.”

Moira didn’t want to reply right away and say the wrong thing. She knew Dinah Lance only in passing—she taught History at Starling Prep, which was the reason the Lance sisters had attended the private school and the beginning of Oliver’s troubles with them. She thought of many things she could say regarding Quentin’s marriage but decided on a smile and no comment at all. 

————————————————————

He thought she’d fallen asleep, it had been quiet so long, but then she made a little noise of frustration. Oliver turned his head to gaze at the side of her face.

“Everything alright?”

“Another nail pop.” She lifted a hand to point it out on the ceiling of the loft. They were lying on their backs with their heads on the same pillow, legs stretched out in opposite directions. Whenever they looked at each other it made Felicity think of yin and yang. 

“What’s a nail pop?”

“Sometimes nails wiggle loose and pop through the drywall. It happens as the house settles.”

“When nails go rogue.”

She laughed. “Exactly.”

“Do you know how to fix it?”

“I do. But it’s a pain.” She sighed. “After the first couple I decided to give up and wait until they’d all gotten it out of their system and then fix ‘em all at once.” Felicity swirled her hand around in the air to illustrate her point. 

It was Oliver’s turn to sigh. “You’re remarkable.”

“What?”

“You can build a house, you’re this—“ he gestured with one hand as he searched for the right word—“uber librarian... You. Are remarkable.”

He interlaced his fingers over his chest and stared at nothing, asked for nothing of the universe except to stay up here with Felicity Smoak forever.

Or as long as she wanted him here, at least. 

Felicity huffed a sigh that sounded both pleased and embarrassed, and it made him smile. 

“I should get some sleep.”

Oliver continued to stare at the ceiling. “You really think we’ll be able to make it to the library in the morning?” He felt her head turn in his direction.

“We?”

“Well, sure. I’m not going to make you brave this weather alone.”

“Dig’s already offered. He has a four wheel drive. We’ll get there.” She paused dramatically. “Whether we get home...”

“THAT’S encouraging.”

She giggled and he grinned, turning to look at her, crazily upside down from his perspective but oh, so tempting in her nearness. Their eyes caught and she blushed. 

“What?” he asked softly, amused.

“You’re probably getting a terrific view up my nose right about now.”

“I don’t mind. It’s a lovely nose.”

They stared for what seemed like a thousand years and then Felicity glanced away, breaking the spell.

“I should...”

“Yeah. Me too.” They both busied themselves sitting up, looking at anything but each other. “Mind if I take the couch?”

“Not at all.” She was already swinging her second leg around to join the first on the ladder. “It’s practically—“ She stopped herself, pulled her lips in, and shook her head quickly. “Good night.”

“Night.” Oliver sat on his knees and watched her disappear from sight, wondering what she’d been about to say. 

—————————————————————-

“And that’s when we knew there was no chance of saving it. The girls were grown, we didn’t have to worry so much about ‘em.” Quentin paused as he stared into the corner for a second. “She kept the house, and I moved in here.” He glanced at Moira and flashed her a smile that was both charming and sad. “It’s fine. Good, actually. It’s good.”

Moira propped her head with the fingers of one hand, her elbow resting on the back of the couch and her body turned toward him. “You get along?”

“Oh yeah. Better now that we’re not married. She hosted Thanksgiving last year for all of us. It was nice.” He dropped his gaze to his own lap and his hand resting on his thigh. It would be so easy, this far into the night and the alcohol, to slide that hand across the very small distance between them and rest it on her knee. So he did. 

Moira didn’t pull away. 

“Robert and I should’ve probably done that,” she said, oh so softly. 

“Divorce?” He was still staring at his hand, at his thumb skimming in circles over its newly-discovered territory. 

“The first time he cheated I should’ve left.” She sighed. “His mother was still alive then, running everything, I was pregnant with Oliver, it seemed impossible. It seemed...stupid, to give all that up for what he convinced me was a momentary weakness.” Quentin looked up and she gave him a rueful smile. “When all along the weakness was mine.”

“You can’t think like that, Mo,” he pleaded, the hand on her knee squeezing in emphasis. “Don’t ever blame yourself. God, I wish I’d known you first.” Then he chuckled darkly. “That woulda been something, eh? You a debutante, and me, a dumb city kid dreaming of being a cop.” He huffed, amused, and looked away from her. 

Moira shook her head as she dropped her hand to stroke along his shoulder. “I was never a debutante. For a long time I was just a nobody, Quentin.”

He shook his head slowly, found himself leaning in. “You could never be a nobody.”

She closed her eyes and waited for him to reach her.

———————————————————-

Despite the late hour and the fatigue she’d battled all day, Felicity slept terribly. He was out there, on her couch, so close. He’d come halfway across the country with no plan other than to see her. For what? He still hadn’t really made his intentions clear. They were good together; amazing, really. But he hadn’t made a move, and other than a few glowing compliments hadn’t indicated that he thought of her as anything more than a friend, either.

She dragged herself up early, not wanting to get caught in bed with him in her shower again, but then rushed through her routine in fear of hogging the bathroom if he really needed it. 

She passed over her usual library wardrobe for jeans and a thick sweater, partly because dress codes were relaxed on the weekends, but mostly because she didn’t relish the idea of hiking through a snowstorm in a skirt and panda flats if the roads proved to be impassable by car. Her hair was still damp in its ponytail when she emerged to find that Oliver had already been plenty busy. The MGM Grand blanket he’d slept with was rolled up neatly and resting on the kitchen island next to a reusable shopping bag sporting the Central City Public Library logo. He was standing beside all of it with his hands in his pockets. 

“Morning,” he said softly. “Sleep well?”

“Awful, actually. You?”

He shrugged and glanced away, and she was sure he was feeling irrationally guilty for her bad night. 

“You’ve been busy.” Felicity approached the bag on the counter and raised up on her tiptoes to look in.

“I hope you don’t mind. I was thinking of lunch. And maybe being stranded overnight.”

Or needing to share, she thought as she silently counted the number of frozen food containers he’d stacked inside, plus a box of granola bars and a package of Pop Tarts. 

“I can make breakfast, once I—“ He left off the rest of his sentence in favor of tipping his head toward her bedroom. 

“Oh, sure! No worries. I can manage a couple bowls of cereal. Take your time.”

She texted John to confirm he was still coming and had everything out on the counter by the time her houseguest returned to the kitchen. Oliver ate quickly and washed his bowl, then shrugged into his jacket. 

“If you have a snow shovel I’ll do some work out front. To make sure he can get in the drive.”

Felicity caught her bottom lip in her teeth at the thought of him out there in just the leather. 

“Wait. Here.” She skipped ahead of him to the coat rack by the front door and unwound a variegated blue scarf. It was 10 feet long if it was an inch, with ridiculously long fringe. She still had no idea how Donna Smoak has sourced such a monstrosity in the desert, but it had arrived in her mailbox in the middle of her first winter with a matching hat. 

Oliver recognized what she meant to do and bent his head obediently, his eyes watching her closely as she placed the middle of the scarf around his neck and began winding. He was tall; she pushed up on her toes to reach as she went, and suddenly they were nose to nose, staring. She wobbled in surprise and felt his hands, lightly, on her hips.

“Felicity?” he whispered, clearly a loaded question.

“Yes?”

A truck horn—had to be Dig’s—blared outside her door. Felicity blinked once. 

“That’s our ride. Can we...talk about this later?”

He nodded slowly and let her go. 

————————————————————

John Diggle had a very strange look on his face when two people shuffled out of the house and through the shin-deep snow to his SUV. 

“Hey,” Felicity said breezily, deciding to ignore his raised eyebrow as she clambered into the back seat with the bag of food. “Dig, this is Oliver. Oliver, John.”

“Queen, huh?” John leaned forward against the steering wheel in a way that made his biceps bunch impressively. Oliver met his scrutinizing frown with steady eye contact and a nod.

“Nice to meet you, John.”

He climbed in to the front seat since Felicity had clearly staked out the back. John reversed out of her drive, careful to stay in the tracks he’d made pulling in. 

The ride was silent for two excruciatingly long minutes. 

“Lyla make it back?” 

Felicity’s question was met with a grunt from Dig. “Stuck in Florida another day at least. Their flight didn’t even try to go out.”

“Aw, I’m sorry.” Felicity tried to catch his eye in the rear view mirror, but they were directly behind a snowplow and John needed to concentrate. “At least they get a couple more days of warm weather.”

“Yeah. Behind this storm is another blast of polar air.” His eyes did flick to her in the mirror that time. “The snow is here to stay for awhile.” 

Big fat flakes fell as they pushed on in silence. Felicity watched the world go by from the backseat and the normal, everyday sounds muffled by twelve inches of snow. A few people were out shoveling walks, and once or twice a car passed them on its own slow journey, but otherwise they could be the last three people on earth. She looked away from the window to stare at the back of Oliver’s head. 

It looked like the sidewalk and parking lot of the library had been cleared within the last few hours, but there were easily two inches of new snow accumulated since then. Dig pulled in carefully and stopped at the employee entrance. 

“Grab a shovel from the back. You’ll have to keep ahead of it yourselves. I’m Battalion Chief this shift, and we can’t risk bringing the rig out unless it’s an emergency.”

Felicity nodded understanding; where John went the fire truck had to go too. 

“I’ll do it,” Oliver said quietly, the first words he’d spoken since their trip began. 

“How you planning to get home?”

Felicity joined Oliver out in the snow before turning back with her hand on the door to answer. “Assuming we go home tonight at all?” She shrugged, unaffected. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I can probably spare somebody to take you if we’re not hip-deep in runs.”

“Just don’t send Cooper, yeah?”

John made a face and huffed a laugh but pulled away without answering. 

They watched him roll carefully out into the street before Felicity looked up at Oliver.   
“You can use the employee entrance with me. It’s okay.” He looked skeptical but followed obediently, and in no time they were shedding their coats in the break room and depositing their stash of frozen food in the freezer. 

The sound of boots stomping and scraping told Felicity Cisco had arrived. She poked her head around the corner to let him know she wasn’t alone and got a saucy wink in return. She rolled her eyes. 

Oliver started work on the sidewalks as the two librarians began their daily opening routine. By the time they were ready to unlock the doors a group of people were shuffling at the front door; Oliver was standing with them, leaning on his shovel.

Felicity produced the library book he’d started the day before with a flourish as he passed by her. He also grabbed a computer pass from the bowl next to her with a wink. She watched him walk away, her bottom lip captured by her teeth, and felt Cisco nudge her shoulder. 

“Do we need to talk about that?”

She sighed. “We definitely do NOT.”

He made a disappointed sound, but for once didn’t push. 

—————————————————————

The snow continued. It was quite beautiful to look at from the floor to ceiling windows, falling silently to cover the ground and the buildings and the stoplight. It even managed to make the gas station across the street look festive. Oliver rose every hour or so to put his coat back on and tackle the sidewalks, easing the way for patrons to make it inside. Hardly anyone left, so by lunchtime the computers were almost all occupied. 

Felicity was so busy shelving she didn’t notice him disappear the next time, and only looked up when she heard multiple voices talking and laughing on the other side of the room. She poked her head around the end of the non-fiction DVDs to find Oliver surrounded by library patrons—including a couple of kids who’d tumbled through the front door an hour before, blue from cold but joyous—with a large open box in his arms. Folks were helping themselves to lunch, hot dogs and chips and bottles of water, all of which appeared to have come from across the street. Oliver looked up as she approached and flashed her a brilliant smile. 

“He wasn’t making any money selling gas today, so he didn’t really mind that I bought him out of hot dogs.” 

“Oliver...” He’d shocked her speechless, but he only shrugged once, bashful at her obvious praise. 

———————————————————

Diggle called—officially, he used the landline—at 3:30pm. 

“They’re declaring a state of emergency for half the counties in the state. The governor’s hinting strongly that public services close early.”

That included the library, of course; he was trying to give her fair warning before an actual order came down the line. Felicity blew out a sigh. 

“You know that just puts people out in this weather sooner. For longer. I can’t.”

“Felicity, you can get into serious trouble if you don’t.”

“I know that, John.”

“I know you know. And I admire you for that.” He paused. “Just wanted you to be aware.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me know what you decide to do.”

Felicity hung up slowly, puzzling through her options, none of which were good. Cisco slid off his stool to stand at her shoulder while Oliver drifted close enough to lean on the desk opposite her. Even without hearing both sides of the conversation they seemed to know what was up.

“I’m down for whatever,” Cisco offered with no prompting. Her eyes flicked to him.

“Even if...?”

He nodded assent. “Even if.”

Before any more could be said a new person shuffled into the building, stomping the snow off his ratty boots and rubbing his gloveless hands together. 

“Hey, Mr Larry,” she greeted him absently.

“Hi Ma’am.” He stumbled forward with an agitated wave and stopped at Oliver’s side. “Slade,” he gasped. “Where’s Slade?”

Despite her current dilemma, Felicity still managed to smile reassuringly. “He’s been in the hospital for days, Mr Larry,” she soothed. “He’s safe.”

The man shook his head frantically, nearly falling sideways with the effort. Oliver slipped a hand under his elbow to steady him, but the man didn’t seem to notice. 

“No,” he gasped. “I seen him yesterday. He checked himself out. Said they were asking about money. You know’d he wouldn’t be beholden to ‘em. Walked right outta there.”

“Shit,” Oliver hissed under his breath. Felicity’s hand was already on the phone receiver but he shook his head quickly. “An ambulance won’t do us any good unless we know where he is.” He turned Larry to face him. “Where did you see him?”

“Hey, aren’t you—?”

“Yeah, but not right now. Listen. Where was he, Larry?”

“Down near Trinity Church. You know, behind it. Near the dumpster.”

Felicity could tell he was calculating, turning that information over in his mind. “I know it. He won’t still be there, though. There’s no shelter.”

Oliver let go of Larry and strode across the library to get his jacket, and Felicity’s stomach dropped in fear. 

“Oliver, no. You can’t—“

He was back already. “I have to. I know where to look. If I find him I’ll call you and you can send the ambulance.”

“You’ll freeze out there!”

“No he won’t.” She didn’t realize until then that Cisco had disappeared from her side long enough to snag his down parka from the break room. “Here.” 

Oliver traded him jackets with a solemn nod and slipped into it. Felicity made an unhappy noise in her chest before holding up a finger and racing to the back herself. He was still there, waiting, when she returned with a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water to stuff in his pockets. 

“Is your phone charged?”

He nodded, looking at her like he wanted to memorize her face. She didn’t like that feeling one bit. 

“One last thing.” She pushed up on her tiptoes to throw the ridiculous blue scarf over his head. He stood perfectly still as she wound it around his neck, and at the last second she gave both ends a little yank to pull him down enough for their lips to meet in a kiss. 

She put everything she could into that brief contact. 

He was staring, wide eyed, as she dropped back down on her heels. “I thought we were going to talk about that,” he whispered.

“Talking’s overrated in a situation like this.” She searched his face, wide eyed at her own boldness, until he nodded agreement. “Be careful,” she added softly.

“I will. I’ll call as soon as I find him.”

Oliver paused one more second to leave a gentle kiss on her forehead, then turned away for the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. First there was the Outlander binge rewatch while I waited for Season Four from the library, and now it’s the Downton Abbey binge rewatch before I see the movie next week. And the rest of Real Life too, of course.  
> After re-reading a few chapters today and looking at how much story I have left to tell, I decided late this evening to split the current chapter up so I can go ahead and post. As always, I thank you for your support and love hearing from you!

When Oliver Queen was ten years old—the year Thea was born—his parents decided to spend the Christmas holidays at their home in Aspen, Colorado. He had no way of knowing the idea came to his father because he’d developed “feelings” for the flight attendant on the Queen family jet and thought this was a good way to get his Christmas pudding and eat it too, and if young Oliver didn’t exactly get why, halfway through the festivities, his parents became brooding and hostile to each other he at least understood that something like a grand gesture on his part might lighten the mood and get everyone’s emotions back on track. 

And so he found himself, the day before Christmas, slogging knee deep through the snow in the forest behind their house, looking for his very own tree to chop down. It wasn’t possible to outshine the fifteen foot monster already decorated and glittering under the soaring ceiling of their living room, so he set his sights on finding one roughly his own height. He wasn’t even thinking about decorations yet; he figured Raisa and the nanny would help him with that part, which left him plenty of time to imagine the looks on his parents’ faces as he dragged his hard-won prize straight to the front door and presented it. 

An Oliver-sized axe slung over his shoulder—the way he’d seen a lumberjack in a picture book carry it—he’d set off to find his tree, but already the deep snow and the bitter cold were a problem. He floundered and fell countless times, filling his pant legs and coat sleeves with snow. His cheeks stung where it had stuck and started to melt, and his breathing fogged in front of his face, making it hard to see. He really should’ve worn a hat. He was wearing ski pants, luckily, but after a few minutes of sitting in a snowbank to catch his breath his backside stung from the cold. And if that wasn’t enough, somehow he’d lost a mitten.

His father found him an hour later, red faced and shivering, sitting next to his grand gesture, a scrubby little pine he hadn’t even started to chop down. Robert carried him home in the silent twilight and his parents called a truce long enough to spend Christmas Eve cuddling their near-hypothermic son on the couch. 

Fifteen years later, the only similarity Oliver Queen could find between downtown Central City in a blizzard and that snowy day in Aspen was his lack of preparedness for either. He wondered if Felicity knew the blue scarf wrapped to his ears smelled like her; he’d already made himself lightheaded sniffing so hard. Cisco’s coat was warm, but apparently he didn’t believe in gloves either. He kept his hands balled up and shoved into the pockets with the water and granola bars, his body tipped slightly forward to keep his feet directly under himself in case he slipped.

Beyond the stretch of sidewalk he’d diligently shoveled all day the footing was treacherous. In most places no one had bothered to keep up; he was easily up to his knees in spots. When his feet began to go numb from constant burial he floundered out into the street, which had at least been cleared within the last hour. He trudged on with a constant fear that a driver would miss seeing him, or accidentally slide into him, or both. 

The few blocks he had to cover would’ve only taken a few minutes under normal circumstances, but slipping in the road and the slog through deep snow—with more falling every second—was slowing him down drastically. The deserted streets seemed to stretch out forever. 

Oliver’s phone buzzed with a text in his pocket; he pulled it out carefully with numbed hands. It was from Felicity.

WE SHOULD’VE CALLED THE SHELTERS FIRST. I CAN STILL CALL THEM. SHOULD I?

Even with numb lips he couldn’t stop a grin; she babbled in text messages too. His breath fogging above the screen made it hard to see to reply back. 

HE WON’T BE IN A SHELTER

He didn’t have enough dexterity in his fingers to give any more explanation. Or leave punctuation. 

He fumbled the phone back into his pocket and stuffed his hand in after it. Oliver Queen had never been a man of many words, and under these circumstances it would be nearly impossible for him to articulate how he knew Slade Wilson, sick as he was, would rather be out on his own in the unknown than feel like a prisoner in a relatively safe and comfortable institution. 

Most of Oliver’s days in this city had been a blur of confusion and fear. He didn’t know who he was—did he like horror movies? or peas? was anyone out there missing him?—so he concentrated on learning everything he could about his companion, the person who became, temporarily, the center of his universe. (One of two centers, he decided with another large inhale of her scent from the scarf.) 

Slade might be many things, but he definitely wasn’t a man who allowed himself to be beholden to anyone. Not another person, or an organization, or a god. Homelessness was not a condition he suffered, or a misfortune, it was a choice. A choice to live on his own terms and with his own rules. 

Robert Queen would’ve labeled Slade a libertarian and scoffed, no doubt. Oliver avoided politics as much as possible, but he’d heard enough of his father’s rants against any philosophy that didn’t hold capitalism at its dead center to know this. He shivered and scrunched deeper into the parka, cutting off the beginnings of a daydream about the two men—the captain of industry and the unapologetic bum—sitting down to swap world views. His father was gone, and if he didn’t keep moving his friend would be too. 

——————————————————————

Felicity had dreaded the call for so long she thought she would jump when it finally came, but she read the name on the caller ID with something like relief. Her eyes flicked to Cisco as she picked up and said hello.

“Hi Felicity, it’s Roma. I know this isn’t ideal, but we’re going to close all the branches early. We’re under a state of emergency. It’s just not safe to stay open any longer. Most of our locations are empty anyway.”

Felicity had always liked her regional manager; Roma had been in the system forever, and she was intelligent and fair. And Felicity knew she didn’t like this decision either. Her eyes scanned the room and the fifteen or so patrons scattered around.

“Actually, we have quite a few people today. They’re here to get out of the cold.” Felicity glanced over at Cisco, who was watching her very carefully. He nodded once.

She heard her boss sigh over the phone. “The library isn’t a shelter. We don’t have the means to keep people overnight—“

“We have heat—sorry to interrupt—but we do. And space. We brought in extra food, and I think the fire department has cots.” She was squeezing the handset so hard she heard the plastic protest. 

“Felicity, I appreciate you wanting to help, but we can’t. Your patrons need to go somewhere else.” She paused as she made a decision. “I will allow you to stay open until regular Saturday closing, but that’s it. I’m sorry.”

Two hours. Two more hours of light and heat and security, and then Mr Russell, the soles of his shoes newly repaired with duct tape just yesterday by Cisco, would be out on the street. She’d have to convince the kiddos, who were here because a library full of strangers was safer than their home, to bundle up and stay together and not dawdle. Mr Larry, deprived of the warmth, would hit the liquor store in an attempt to pickle himself. 

Two hours until Oliver would be at the mercy of the elements with no back up. Felicity clasped her hands in front of her, decision made for now. 

“Let’s get some of that food heated up.”

——————————————————————

Oliver couldn’t believe he remembered the trick to making the “door” work to this place. The quotation marks added themselves to the word in his head in a very Felicity way as he lifted up on the sheet of plywood enough to free it from its concrete threshold at the same time he pushed in. The wood scraped loudly against the floor but opened wide enough to allow him to squeeze through. If it had been meant to open out he never would’ve been able to shift it against all the snow. 

The light outside was flat, which meant inside the building it was almost pitch black. Oliver fumbled for his phone and turned on the flashlight, noting with concern how rapidly the cold had drained his battery. The ground was strewn with construction debris, the remains of a very old building falling apart a little at a time. He nudged trash aside carefully with his foot as he swept the light back and forth. The last thing he needed was an abandoned needle going through his shoe. The first floor was empty of life; Oliver grit his teeth when he reached the dilapidated stairs to the second floor but started the climb anyway. 

The upstairs was just as messy, and more dangerous in the sections where the wooden floor had rotted away. It was a condemned building for a reason, he thought grimly. The main room was also empty, but one closed door in the far corner drew his eye. Oliver crossed the room gingerly and paused only a moment before turning the knob.

He felt the temperature change immediately; not like the rush of hot air from a traditional heating system, but a muggy warmth nonetheless. With it came a smell, the kind it wasn’t possible to avoid simply by breathing through his mouth. He swallowed hard and tried not to gag. 

The heat source was a coffee can filled with a roll of toilet paper saturated with rubbing alcohol and set alight. Three bodies hunched over it with their hands out. One of them grunted as Oliver stepped into the room, but no one moved to stop him. Other bundles that might or not be human beings —and might or might not be alive—lay about the room. He wanted to ask for Slade out loud but his voice froze in his throat. These were the worst of the addicts, the severely mentally ill, the very fringe of society and the people who couldn’t be trusted to spend the night in a shelter. The less he provoked any of them, the better.

Teeth chattering from more than the cold, he moved carefully through the space, squatting gingerly to check the bundles of rags and filth for a familiar face. The slack features of one made him recoil in horror; he’d never seen a dead body that wasn’t backlit and posed in a casket. Sheer force of will made him move on to check the next. 

The last one was definitely breathing, swallow wheezy pants that sounded like a death rattle. The body didn’t resist as he rolled it face up and his flashlight confirmed its identity.

“Slade. Hey, buddy.” Oliver hardly recognized his own voice through the chattering of his teeth. “Hey,” he said again, shaking his shoulder gently. Slade was alive, but unresponsive. Oliver hunched further into his coat as his mind raced over the possibilities: he was strong, but Slade was not a small man. Hauling him up and getting him through the maze of bodies in this room alone was going to be nearly impossible, and that was only the first part. His heart rate kicked up a notch when he saw his battery life had dropped to 6%. Time to call for backup. 

He stood and threaded his way across the space, suddenly uneasy about broadcasting to the room that he had a working phone. He slipped back out the door and dialed Felicity’s number. 

“I found him. Call 911.” 

His phone died as he was giving her the address. 

——————————————————————

“Oliver? Oliver! Frak! Oliver!!” 

Cisco was there in a hurry. 

“I lost him. His phone must’ve died. Dammit!”

“Did he have time to tell you where he is?”

“I only heard half the address before I lost him. McArthur and...something.” She shook her head quickly. “He got cut off.”

Cisco’s knuckles tapped the counter rapidly as he thought. “Try him back, just in case,” he ordered, already moving to his computer and Google Maps. She tried twice, both times with no success. 

“Here,” Cisco said, his voice drawing her to his side. “McArthur gets interrupted halfway through downtown. Picks up again...here.” He was quiet a second. “Some parts are better than others.”

“Slade would be in the bad part.”

“Agreed. But where?”

“Mr Larry!” Felicity said suddenly, already on the move. “Call John,” she threw back over her shoulder. “He might have an idea which buildings they use.”

Mr Larry, like many of their patrons, had good moments and bad. He’d been most helpful only a couple of hours before, but now she found him sitting at the last public computer, muttering and vague. Felicity knelt next to him. 

“Mr Larry, Oliver found Mr Wilson. Slade. Somewhere on McArthur. Do you know which building that might be?”

There was no response at first. She repeated and re-worded the question several times until he blinked and looked like he knew she was there. 

“Wha?”

“McArthur Street, Mr Larry. Which building would Slade be in?”

“McArthur?”

“Yes! Do you know which building?”

The man frowned and smacked his lips a couple of times; most of his teeth were missing. “My father worked on McArthur. In that building. During the war. Quit school. To go ta work.” He trailed off and sniffed, his eyes losing focus again. 

“Mr Larry?” She resisted the urge to shake him. “Which building? Please, I need to help Oliver.”

He hummed tunelessly. “Shoelaces,” was all he said. 

Felicity suppressed a groan and rose to return to the circulation desk. Cisco was just hanging up the phone and shaking his head. 

“They can’t take a run without a complete address. He said the street is full of abandoned buildings. He wants to help, we just have to get him closer. What did Larry say?”

Felicity wanted to scream with frustration. 

“Just that his father worked there. During the war. I don’t know.”

Cisco turned back to the map on the computer and frowned. “Back to the drawing board.”

“Wait.” Felicity went for the mouse at her own computer and began to click around in the the library’s online archives until she found a file of digitized photographs of downtown Central City taken over the last hundred years. “Let’s see what these buildings were used for during the war.” They clicked silently side by side for a moment. “Grocery, bank, warehouse, apartment—Wait! Larry mumbled something about shoelaces. I thought he’d just lost the thread, but there was a shoe factory on the corner of McArthur and Tecumseh during World War Two! Call Dig!”

“On it.”

Felicity sat back with a sigh. Her eyes roamed the library, this space she loved so much, and she took in the patrons sitting in scattered clumps and sharing the food Oliver had thought to bring amongst themselves as they talked quietly. She glanced at the clock on the wall; they had an hour until closing.

——————————————————————-

They came in with no sirens, probably to keep the building’s occupants from scattering in fear. Oliver heard the plywood “door” protest and let out a whoosh of air from his lungs in relief. He’d forced himself to go back into that room to be near his friend, and the wait had felt like two years. He stood from his crouch and shifted from foot to foot, both of them numb, Slade still a wheezing bundle on the floor. He negotiated the room as quickly and quietly as possible and stepped out into the larger space to help the EMTs find him. 

They sent three, initially, and a police officer; John Diggle was also with them. 

“In here,” Oliver said, just a murmur, and the others nodded. He led the way across the room to the lump that was Slade; the first EMT motioned him away gently as she knelt, so Oliver returned the way he’d come to meet John and the police officer at the doorway.

“There are others,” he said softly. “One of them is—“ He swallowed hard. “Isn’t—“ 

He cut himself off again and stared very hard at the far side of the room to keep it together. The officer said “Okay” under his breath, understanding immediately, and mumbled into his shoulder radio. John set his hands on his hips in a way that said he wanted to reach out but also wanted to give him space. 

In a few more minutes three additional fireman appeared at the top of the stairs with a stretcher and the policeman hooked Oliver’s arm gently and steered him toward the stairs. He went along without protest. 

They put him in the back of the ambulance to warm up while he waited. Oliver watched another ambulance and two more patrol cars pull up silently in the snow and park every which way in the otherwise deserted street. Two fireman worked energetically to shovel the sidewalk from the building to the ambulance, their breaths puffing in huge clouds. 

After an eternity the stretcher emerged from the building; Slade was a mound of rags in an oxygen mask but no one was hurrying, so Oliver took that as a good sign. He climbed down into the street to allow them to maneuver and then waited ten more seconds for John to reach him. The big man laid a hand on his shoulder before Oliver found his voice to speak.

“Can you let Felicity know we’re okay? My phone...” He couldn’t say the word “died”. 

John nodded silently. “I’ll tell her.” His eyes flicked to the back of the ambulance where they were just raising the wheels on the stretcher. “You riding along?”

“Can I?”

John nodded solemnly. “Of course.” And then he squeezed once. “You did good.”

Oliver wanted to say thanks. He meant to say thanks, but when he opened his mouth no sound would come out so he clamped his jaw shut and nodded. John gave him a little push toward the open doors of the ambulance before turning away to get back to work. 

—————————————————————-

“The library is now closed. Good night.”

Sixteen faces watched Felicity anxiously from their various spots around the building as the recorded message finished and the library fell silent. Most of them had never heard that one before. They’d known something was up when she and Cisco failed to do their walk around with five minutes to go; now they waited to see what she would do. 

For her part, Felicity was staring at the telephone, waiting for the inevitable call. Even if her boss wasn’t already half-expecting her to flaunt the rules there were cameras all over the building. Sooner or later someone at the security office would notice that the lights were still very much on at her branch. So maybe the call would come from even higher up than the regional manager. 

She swallowed against the sick feeling in her stomach. 

Luckily the day hadn’t held only bad news; Dig’s call that Slade had been found and Oliver was safe made her grin like a fool, and though they probably wouldn’t see each other the rest of the night, at least she knew he was okay. Between sorting out sleeping arrangements for their spontaneous overnight guests and worrying about losing her job Felicity waited impatiently for Oliver’s phone to recharge at Central City Hospital so she could hear his voice. 

——————————————————————

The ride across the city in the back of a silent ambulance with snow continuing to fall and Slade Wilson wheezing like a steam engine felt as surreal and terrifying as every crazy day he’d spent in Central City as a homeless amnesiac. Oliver sat with his hands squeezed together between his knees, trying to stop shivering. Trying to stay out of the way. Trying to forget the smell in that room. And the body.

God, he needed Felicity. 

The two EMTs looking after Slade made small talk in low voices, leaving him be. He had no idea what his next steps should be beyond making sure Slade was taken care of. He had no way to get back to the library, and with a dead phone no way to know if Felicity had managed to keep the place open as an emergency shelter or if she was currently catching a ride home with a friendly neighborhood ripped fireman. Not Cooper, not Cooper, he muttered over and over in his head. John wouldn’t do that to them, surely. 

They rolled into the Emergency bay and the driver chirped the siren to announce their arrival. The back doors opened, bringing a swirl of snow inside. The flakes settled on Slade’s shoes, but he didn’t seem to notice. He hadn’t so much as moaned since Oliver found him, which was so unlike his blustery, foul-mouthed friend that Oliver felt the crazy urge to smile. 

He was mostly ignored as he followed the stretcher into to the warm, brightly lit interior of the ER and Slade was turned over to a new team. Oliver took the opportunity to find a restroom, then floated around the edges of the waiting area, not sure if he should be insisting to stay with him or wait for further orders. 

Eventually a nurse came out to ask him questions, and a little later someone else rushed through long enough to ask him if Slade had any allergies. He couldn’t look at his phone or otherwise check in with Felicity, so he balled up Cisco’s coat and used it to pillow his head against the wall and feign sleep.

Time was hard to tell, but his stomach was telling him he’d missed dinner by the time a patient registrar pushed a laptop on a stand up to his resting spot. Oliver blinked and yawned in a fog as the questions were asked. Yes, he was with Slade Wilson. No, he didn’t know his birthdate or his exact age. Somewhere north of 40, probably. 

No, his friend didn’t have insurance.

At that point Oliver pulled a credit card from his wallet and handed it over. To cover the bills from the previous stay too, he said. The woman gave him something like a polite smirk. 

“No offense, but it’ll be over your card’s limit.” She tried to hand it back. 

“This one doesn’t have a limit,” he assured her, as gently as he knew how. Her mouth snapped shut but she recorded the number without further protest. 

An hour later another nurse came to get him and escort him to the waiting area in the intensive care unit. She left him there with a cup of coffee and the spare charger cord from her car. 

——————————————————————

The library phone remained silent, which made Felicity jumpy. She distracted herself by pulling out their stash of board games; the public computers had shut off at closing and they had no way to override that, but Cisco set up a movie in the community room and even found a box of microwave popcorn that wasn’t out of date by much. 

By eight o’clock it was officially a party. 

“The no running rule still applies,” she reminded the youngsters in her Loud Librarian Voice as they tumbled past the desk. Cisco and two patrons were busy hauling in twenty or so cots dropped off by an off-duty fireman with four wheel drive—she made a mental note to send John Diggle a fruit basket when this was all over—and two others carried in blankets. She jumped a foot when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was her mother.

“Hey mom.” She tried not to sound disappointed that it wasn’t Oliver. 

“The news is saying there’s a big snow storm right over you. All the stations are covering it. Are you okay, Baby?”

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m safe.”

“How was your work thingy? Meet any millionaires?”

The kids pelted past again and Felicity had to clamp her teeth together to keep from yelling. “No, I...I can’t talk right now. I’m, um, I’m at work.”

Donna sounded shocked. “Right now? Honey, it’s so late—“

“I know. I’ll explain everything, but right now I gotta go, okay? I’ll call you later.” And probably move back in when I get fired tomorrow, she thought with a sour twist in her stomach. “Bye mom.”

It buzzed again thirty seconds later and she swore under her breath as she snatched it off the desk. 

Except this time it was Oliver. 

“Oliver? Hey hello hi there. Are you okay? Oh my god I’ve been so worried.” It came out in a jumbled rush and she heard him chuckle.

“I’m okay, Felicity. Hi.”

“Hi.” She turned warm and gooey inside. “Are you at the hospital?”

He sighed deeply. “Yeah. I can’t see him, he’s in ICU, but they’re working on him. Are you...?”

“Still at the library.” Her voice wobbled a bit and she swallowed hard. “Cisco and I are staying. And fifteen patrons.”

“And you haven’t heard...?”

“No, I’ve heard. They definitely didn’t want me to do it, and they have to know we’re still open, but so far no police.” Felicity traced a pattern with her thumbnail on the counter. “So I guess that’s something.”

It was quiet on the line for a breath. 

“I wish I could be there to help.”

“I know. Me too. But you should be at the hospital. He needs you.”

Oliver sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Let me know if anything happens.”

“I will.” Her lips quirked up in a tremulous smile. “You have bail money?”

“I’ve got you covered, Felicity.” There was so much warmth in his voice she knew he must be smiling too. “I’ll text you later?”

An outright grin flashed across her face. “Yes, please.”

“You got it. Sweet dreams.”

“G’night.”

——————————————————————

The hospital cafeteria had closed hours ago, but Oliver managed to find a small shop on the first floor where he could get a sandwich. The waiting area was empty when he returned, so he curled up on one of the couches and went to sleep. 

—————————————————————

They lowered the lights and Cisco disappeared to grab a nap; neither of them were willing to leave the desk unmanned all night and he’d volunteered to stay up. Felicity sat at the Circulation Desk facing out at the floor to ceiling windows and the silent, white world beyond them. The stoplight at the intersection ran through its cycle of green/amber/red with no one to pay attention. It took her several minutes to realize it had finally stopped snowing.

—————————————————————-

Oliver woke with a start, chased to wakefulness by a bad dream he couldn’t remember by the time he’d swung his feet to the floor and sat up. His phone told him he’d been asleep an hour. He gnawed his lip for a moment before texting. 

HEY. YOU AWAKE?

The answer came back almost immediately.

I AM. WAITING FOR CISCO TO WAKE UP BEFORE I GO TO BED. DID YOU GET SOME SLEEP?

A pause. 

SORT OF.

YOU WANT TO TELL ME ABOUT IT?

Oliver stared at his phone for a long moment. How could she possibly know?

NOT OVER A TEXT. 

I UNDERSTAND. TRY TO REST, OKAY?

He had to suppress a smile. I WILL IF YOU WILL. 

DEAL. NIGHT.

His finger hovered over the button for almost a minute before he got up the nerve to reply with the emoji blowing a kiss. He set the phone down on the coffee table and stared at its black screen for a long, long time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was going to go on forever in order to get where it needed to be, so I broke it up a little. Hopefully that means you’ll get the next one before Christmas—ha! (Sort of.)   
> Thanks for all the lovely comments! Appreciate you all!!

Helena Bertinelli would do anything for a story, including living in the god forsaken Midwest during Snowpocalypse, apparently. What the hell was all this, anyway? She rolled her eyes and burrowed deeper into her Channel 6 News parka. 

“I think the emergency travel ban applies to us too,” her cameraman—and news van driver—muttered as they rolled slowly through the deserted streets. 

“No it doesn’t. We’re journalists. The rules don’t apply to us.” Helena was looking for her big story. Her Woodward and Bernstein moment. And if to do that, to get into serious journalism she had to suffer through a little charity work/local hero fluff-piece bullshit then so be it. She’d do her time in a mid-size city and claw her way to Washington DC. She could take on anybody.

Although, at the moment this looked a little more like Jim Cantore’s territory, which was a sobering thought. 

She’d ordered her (reluctant) partner in crime to head for the rougher side of town, hoping for a good gut-wrenching scene: hobos around a burning trashcan maybe, or shoeless orphans throwing snowballs, or—please oh please—a frozen body in a snowbank. Something to enrage the populous and expose the corrupt underbelly of local government. The national news outlets loved reporters who could uncover corruption. 

It was going on six in the morning, still pitch black with not even a cop car on patrol. If she was going to find a good lead piece to break in time for the morning show she’d better get going. She was opening her mouth to tell him to turn at the intersection when something odd caught her eye. 

“Wait. Why are all the lights on in the library?”

——————————————————————

Felicity yawned hugely and blinked her eyes to chase the last of the sleep away. Despite Cisco’s assurances that he’d be fine staying awake all night she hadn’t been able to really rest, and at 5am she’d dragged herself up and returned to the Circ Desk to relieve him. Expecting to sit in the dark for a couple more hours she’d been shocked to find most of their overnight guests already awake and moving around, so when Cisco volunteered to trudge across the street for gas station coffee she turned on a few lights and started her day. Her phone was blank and silent beside her; hopefully that meant Mr Wilson was out of danger and Oliver was getting some rest. 

Something about the way Cisco was holding himself as he re-entered the library with a box lid full of steaming coffee cups made her look closer; his eyes were as round as saucers.

“What? What is it? Cisco?”

“Reporter,” he hissed, hustling around the desk with his cardboard tray. “Reporter reporter reporter. Oh god.”

Felicity flapped her hands and threw a glance at the patrons milling around very much after hours—or more accurately BEFORE hours—then took a deep breath. 

“Okay. We can do this. We can totally do this. Cisco,” she ordered as the front doors slid open, “start passing out coffee.”

It was her. The reporter from before. Felicity felt her lip try to curl and pulled them both in instead. 

“Good morning!” The brunette’s head tilted to one side. “You look familiar. Didn’t we just do a story on you?” She stepped to the desk and thrust out a manicured hand. “Helena Bertinelli, Channel—“

“Six News.” Felicity nodded once. “I remember.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed a fraction but the smile didn’t move. “We saw your lights on. What’s up?”

“Up? Um, nothing.” 

“Don’t tell me you always open this early. On a Sunday?” Her brow quirked knowingly.

Felicity forced herself not to bite her lip. Be calm, be calm. The only way to prevent a babble was to keep the sentences short. “It’s a blizzard. We had patrons with nowhere to go. We decided to stay open.” There. That wasn’t so hard.

Helena’s eyes narrowed a fraction more; it was like being studied by a venomous snake. “‘We’ the Library as a whole, or ‘we’ the employees of this branch?”

Felicity fought the urge to look for Cisco and kept her eyes on the reporter. Before she could even open her mouth to answer a smug smile lit up Helena’s face. She glanced at her cameraman. “Let’s get set up. I’m calling the station.”

Cisco sidled back up to the desk as the two of them bustled around setting up the camera and preparing to go live. 

“Is this a good idea or a very bad idea?” 

Cisco huffed. “Depends on what she says.”

Felicity shot him a worried look he returned as he handed her a coffee. Helena bustled over, a phone to her ear. 

“They love it. We’re on in six minutes. Do you have any makeup?”

Felicity blinked. “I, uh, have some lipstick, but it’s not the same shade you’re—“

“Not for me. For you.” She turned away without waiting for an answer. Felicity blinked again. 

——————————————————————-

Oliver happened to shift at the same time his phone buzzed with a text, rousing him. He grunted as he reached out to snag it and subsequently felt a night spent on a hospital couch all along his body. The text was from Felicity, and it was very strange.

TURN ON CHANNEL SIX NEWS. 

He blinked a couple of times to get his bearings before he located the tv on the wall in the waiting room. The remote was behind the reception desk; the nurse on duty did the honors. 

The morning show anchors looked fresh and well-rested, smiling at each other over steaming cups of coffee. 

“Well, it seems the weather is at the center of all our news this morning,” one began in a chipper segue voice. “Channel Six’s own Helena Bertinelli joins us live with more. Good morning, Helena!”

The feed switched to the lanky brunette who was smiling, after a fashion, from somewhere in the city. Oliver must’ve made a sour face, because he heard the desk nurse snort. 

“Thanks! This snowstorm has certainly made unique bedfellows, perhaps none more so than where I’m standing, inside a neighborhood branch of the Central City Public Library, where librarians Felicity Smoak and Cisco Ramon have created a safe space for some of the city’s most vulnerable residents.”

The camera panned away to show its early morning audience the interior of the library and the cots scattered about. Tired faces—some of which Oliver recognized—watched the camera warily. It finished its circuit of the space at the Circulation Desk where Cisco and Felicity stood stiffly, side by side. Helena stepped back into view. 

“Ms Smoak, what prompted your decision to keep the library open last night?”

Oliver forgot to breathe as he watched Felicity prepare to answer. He was studying her so hard he saw her almost pull her lip between her teeth—nerves, he thought—but instead she squared her shoulders and looked right at the reporter.

“Due to the unusually harsh weather we—I—made the decision to keep the branch open so that our patrons who needed shelter could stay safe overnight.”

The microphone flicked back to Helena. “Did you provide food as well?”

Again, he caught the faintest hesitation before Felicity nodded. “A...friend provided meals for both lunch and dinner yesterday. We’ll figure out breakfast soon.”

“And the cots? The blankets?”

“From another friend,” she said simply. 

The mike was back in front of Helena. “Did other branches opt to stay open last night?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard. But I’m sure if they thought there was a need they did.”

“Do you think the city was prepared for this snowstorm? Did policy prevent these people from getting the help they needed?”

Oliver made a not-happy noise in his chest; she was fishing. 

Felicity wouldn’t be baited. “In times of crisis it’s hard to anticipate everything that might have to be done. The library is a public service, funded by local government. Sometimes the needs of the public extend past regular business hours.” Then she shrugged. “We’re just doing our part to save the city.”

Helena half turned, the camera following, so the patrons could once again be seen over her shoulder. She beamed. “Reporting live from downtown Central City, Helena Bertinelli, Channel Six News.”

The anchors took over. “Thanks Helena. Any word if the library will stay open again tonight?”

Helena continued to smile. “I’m sure they’ll do whatever they feel is necessary to ensure the safety of the public.”

“Agreed.” The two morning anchors glanced at each other meaningfully. “They’re certainly heroes, Todd.”

“They sure are, Gretchen. Now it’s time to talk sports!”

Oliver shifted his weight as his attention drifted away from the next tv segment. 

“Friend of yours?” The nurse asked. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. She is.”

She smiled. “Thought so.”

Oliver looked over for the first time, curious. 

“You didn’t breathe that whole time.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t?”

“It looked like you were the one being interviewed.”

He smiled bashfully and she pushed on. “Word’s gotten around what you did for Mr Wilson. It seems the city has more than one hero.”

“Being a hero has nothing to do with it. He’s my friend, and I owe him my life.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just paying him back.”

The nurse was still smiling, but she dropped her eyes to the paperwork in front of her. “You’d better call your friend. Tell her how great she did.”

Oliver nodded slowly as he turned away. “Yeah. I will.”

——————————————————————-

They waited for the news crew to exit the building before they’d even look at each other, but once the van was out of sight Cisco turned and hugged her so hard Felicity thought she might break in half. 

“That was BRILLIANT!”

“Cisco—“

“This was the absolute best thing that could’ve happened today!”

“What—“

“She saved us, much as I hate to admit it, but she did!” He let go long enough to perform a victory dance that made laughter erupt from the far side of the library. Felicity pushed back when he pounced on her again. 

“How did this help?! Everyone in the city will know what we did. There’s actual PROOF!”

He dialed it down a notch and looked at her closely. “You’re not getting it. This is the best PR the library could possibly have. Roma and the Board might think we’ve disobeyed orders, but that news story just made us heroes. There’s no way they can come back at us now without looking like dicks.”

Felicity shook her head, trying to stay unconvinced even though her spirits were lifting a little. “So they can’t fire us. There will still be a lecture, and a note on our records.” She bit her lip in consternation just thinking about it, but Cisco wouldn’t budge.

“They were going to do that anyway. You knew that when you made the decision to stay open. This keeps us from being fired.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently until she couldn’t help smiling. “God, take the win.”

Her buzzing phone ended the discussion; Cisco moved on to celebrate with their patrons, leaving Felicity to snatch it up and answer. 

“You were brilliant.”

Relief flooded through her. “Was it really? You saw?”

“Of course I saw!” He laughed. “And yes, it really was. I told you, Felicity. You’re remarkable.”

She grinned, giddy, and then her smile dropped a fraction. “Well right now I’m more tired than anything. How’s Mr Wilson?”

Oliver sighed. “We won’t know anything until morning rounds. Technically, they can’t tell me anything anyway, but since I’m financially responsible...I don’t know. We’ll see.”

The fatigue and defeat in his voice made her cluck her tongue. “Once you turn on the ol’ Oliver Queen charm? They won’t stand a chance.”

“Hm, well there’s charm and then there’s HIPAA. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and slowly Felicity’s smile came back. 

“I wish you were here,” she said softly, staring at the desk and pretending she wasn’t surrounded by people.

“Not as much as I wish you were here,” he countered. “The waiting room couch last night was AMAZING.”

The sarcasm in his voice made her giggle. “Better than mine?”

“Absolutely. I’m thinking of moving here.”

“You’d be close enough to visit!” Felicity was grinning now, the banter making her flirty and silly. “I hear the food there is great.”

“You, me, the hospital cafeteria. It’s a date.”

She hummed happily.

“Felicity? About yesterday. Before I left to find Slade...”

She swallowed hard.

“Did you...do you—”

“Yes.”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.” She pictured him rubbing the back of his neck and her smile widened.

“Do YOU know what you were going to ask?”

“I just...I don’t have a great track record with this sort of thing,” he admitted softly. “I want to get it right. I want it to be special.”

“Oliver, we’re stuck across town from each other in the middle of a blizzard. It’s already pretty special.”

That made him laugh. “I guess you’re right.” She heard him suck in a breath. “Felicity, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“Yes.” She nodded emphatically into the phone with no hesitation.

“Okay then.” There was a fraction of a pause. “What are you doing later?”

Felicity laughed, then glanced up to see if anyone was listening. “You mean after the blizzard?”

“Later today. Are you keeping the library open another day?”

“Oh, erm. I hadn’t really thought about it.” She looked up and searched for Cisco, because they’d have to talk about it; their branch wasn’t normally open on Sundays. 

“Well keep me updated. I want to stay here until I know what we’re dealing with.”

“Absolutely. Is there anything you need? If I can get it to you?”

“Just you. That’s about it.”

She warmed from her toes up, it felt like. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Talk to you later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Tell everyone I said hi.”

They said goodbye and she set the phone down, carefully pulling her lips in to disguise her goofy grin.

——————————————————————-

The donations began coming around 10am. Snow plows had been rumbling past since early morning, busy catching up now the snow had stopped falling. They had cleared the streets enough for four wheel drives to make it out, despite the emergency travel ban still in place. 

A big black pickup truck with snow tires pulled in first. Felicity and Cisco met the man at the front door and took the giant pot of chili and the box filled with crackers and peanut butter sandwiches. A case of water and a giant thermos of coffee came next, then a bag of clothes and a pile of homemade quilts. Boxes of canned goods. Knitted hats and mittens. Board games. 

By late morning they were running out of space for everything. 

Felicity retreated behind the desk to gather herself as she watched Cisco and their snowbound patrons working side by side to sort and organize everything. Outside a local church was working with multiple snow throwers to clear the sidewalks up and down both sides of the street. They’d brought sandwiches and coffee as well. The whole thing made tears glisten in her eyes. 

Their early morning television interview had attracted more than just the giving public; a small but steady stream of people looking to warm up and get something to eat had found their way to the library all day. Felicity had called 911 for one elderly man, blue with cold, his hands practically frozen into claws, after he’d spent the night in a house with no heat. Seen in that light, her rebelliousness against her employer didn’t seem like such a crime. 

Which is why she was able to answer her boss’s call so calmly. 

“Good morning, Felicity.”

“Hi Roma.”

“I think you know why I’m calling.”

Felicity waited for her to go on.

“Your news segment has caused quite a stir. The mayor called our CEO this morning. At home.”

Felicity’s stomach flipped and she swallowed hard.

“He suggested a list of branches that should open today as emergency shelters. He’s prioritizing clearing the streets around them to allow pedestrian access. He also wants to meet with you and Cisco as soon as this storm passes to discuss your thoughts on a plan of action for future emergencies.”

“He...does?”

“He does.” Roma sighed over the phone. “Felicity, none of us fault your reasoning behind all this, or your heart. But you did defy direct orders, and if you keep that building open overnight again you will continue to do so. At the very least a report will go into your record with HR. But you’ve also raised the profile of our library system in a big and positive way, at a time when we’re facing major budget cuts from the city. If this...stunt can reverse some of the potential damage that could cause, well, the Board of Directors would look favorably on that, I imagine.”

“Sooo, we’re staying open?” Felicity bit her lip.

“So you’re staying open. Until regular Sunday closing time. This time I mean it.” There was a smile in Roma’s voice.

Felicity hid a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

——————————————————————

They were discussing putting on an afternoon movie when Oliver texted to tell them Slade had been moved out of ICU into a private room and he was going to be allowed to stay with him. 

“You should go,” Cisco told her flatly, but Felicity shook her head. 

“I can’t leave you alone here. You know that.”

“It’s Sunday. We close at five, and then you need to go.”

“How? By dog sled?”

“We’ll worry about that right after I put this on.” He waved a dvd case over his head as he turned to go.

“Cisco, come on. Not Ice Station Zebra.”

“Relax. You can play board games with the kiddos while the grownups watch it.”

“Ha ha.”

——————————————————————-

Five o’clock eventually rolled around, but unlike 24 hours earlier the patrons were prepared for the night ahead. Felicity had been able to track down a relative who could come fetch the kids, and the adults were either being sent back home with food, warm clothes, and blankets or picked up by volunteers and shuttled to shelters. 

Felicity’s eyes felt sandpapery and she desperately wanted a hot shower, but a Good Samaritan stopping by offered to drop her at the hospital, so instead of going home she hugged Cisco goodbye and climbed into the SUV with a wave. 

The lights in the room were dimmed. There was intermittent beeping from the various things attached to Slade but he slept deeply, oblivious to his blonde visitor. Felicity paused in the doorway to survey the scene: Oliver was lying back in a reclining chair next to the hospital bed, head turned away from her and peaceful in sleep. She crossed the room on silent feet and stopped next to him to get a better look; god he was beautiful.

Though she missed talking to him she hated to wake him up, so in the end she only crouched near the arm and reached out a tentative hand to slip inside his. There were no plans beyond that, but just as she shifted to get more comfortable Oliver squeezed her fingers and sighed heavily. 

“C’mere,” he mumbled oh so quietly, tugging her hand closer, not stopping even when she got to her feet and stood over him. Before she knew it he was pulling her into his lap, shifting to the side enough to give her a place to settle her hip beside him in the chair. She threw a leg across his and snuggled into him and he rumbled approval deep in his chest. 

The novelty of lying against him was enough to make her heart race, but fatigue took over sooner than she expected and it wasn’t long before Felicity was drifting away on the even rise and fall of his chest. It was heavenly. 

The passing of time was impossible to tell, but eventually a nurse came into the room to check vitals and Oliver shifted under her. 

“Not that I wouldn’t love to have you stay right here all night—“ he tightened his arms around her in a hug—“but you should sleep in your own bed tonight. You’ve had a crazy couple of days.”

She groaned and wriggled closer. “Don’t make me go,” she mumbled.

Oliver chuckled and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “What if I feed you first?”

“Is this a bribe? It sounds like a bribe.”

“I did ask you out to dinner, didn’t I? So no, it’s not a bribe. It’s making good on a promise.”

Felicity sighed but said nothing. 

“Aren’t you hungry? he asked. 

“Starving. But I’m also really comfortable.”

Oliver laughed. “C’mon. Up and at ‘em. Plenty of time for cuddling later.”

Felicity groaned but allowed him to shift her. When she’d gained her feet she grabbed his proffered hand and pulled him up too. “Promise?”

“I promise. Let’s go.”

It was almost eight o’clock by the time they reached the lobby and the closed sign in front of the cafeteria. Felicity groaned in disappointment, but Oliver tugged her forward gently and kept her hand in his as he led the way to the sandwich shop that stayed open late. Their walk was silent but warm, each savoring the sensations of their new connection; Felicity couldn’t remember ever feeling as safe and protected. Oliver’s body practically hummed with happiness. 

An exhausted looking man in scrubs passed them just as they reached the entrance with a wry “Good luck”, and Felicity’s head turned to follow him before swiveling back in question.

“That sounds ominous.”

The place looked ransacked; the coolers that would normally hold wrapped sandwiches and salads were empty, the made-to-order hot line closed up, the racks of chips and snacks almost bare. Felicity’s mouth opened and closed on air. An employee wiping down counters hardly looked up as they walked in.

“Delivery trucks couldn’t get in today. We’re out.” She shrugged once. “Of everything.”

Felicity felt Oliver hesitate next to her for half a second as he processed, then he moved forward with her in tow, looking over what little remained in the store. 

“Organic soy chocolate milk or severely overpriced exotic mixed nuts?”

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “I’m not THAT desperate, and allergic, in that order.”

He glanced at her as he let go of the nuts. “Good to know.” He turned toward the employee as he pulled his wallet out of his jeans. “You sure there’s nothing left back there?” 

The woman glanced over unenthusiastically before her eyes dropped to the bill folded in half between his fingers. As soon as it had transferred itself into her hand she shrugged and moved away. “I’ll go check.”

They were debating the merits of the two kinds of unpronounceable fruit juices left in the drink cooler when she returned with two small bowls of quivering cubes of red jello wrapped in cellophane. 

“On the house,” she offered flatly. 

They paid for the juice and retreated across the lobby to a bench and a picture window overlooking the snow-covered parking lot. As soon as she sat down Felicity ripped the cello off and sucked a cube straight out of the bowl, making Oliver grin. 

They made short work of their meal, such as it was, and sat with their shoulders pressed together in silence for several minutes. 

“I’m staying.”

“You’re going. You need a good night’s sleep. Don’t you have to work in the morning?”

“I don’t know. I’m scheduled off, but everything’s so weird...ugh.”

He turned to look at her and shifted to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just wishing...”

“What?” he prompted when she trailed off.

“I mean, why couldn’t we have met like they do in the movies? In an Internet cafe or something? Maybe you’d trip over my purse, or spill a drink in my lap, or ask me for random tech advice about your laptop.”

Oliver chuckled. “Knowing me it would be full of bullet holes.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

He hugged her closer for a second. “I like our story just fine.”

“I guess I just want it to be less complicated, you know?”

“I know.” He said it softly, telling her he agreed and making it sound—to Felicity’s mind—like he wasn’t planning to fight the inevitable. It broke her heart a little.

They sat that way, looking out at the drifts of snow in companionable silence, until their juice bottles were empty. Oliver stood to throw out their trash and returned to pull her up.

“We need to get you home.”

“Oliver—“

“Please, Felicity. I don’t want to leave you alone tonight, but Slade needs me too. I’m all he’s got.” He pulled her into him and held on. “And I don’t want you to get sick from being worn down.”

They stood in silence for a handful of minutes, leaning into each other and allowing the other to just be. 

“Can John get you?” Oliver finally broke the quiet to ask. Felicity sighed into his chest but fished her phone out of her pocket to text him. 

“Okay,” She grudgingly confirmed. “He’s coming.” She stowed her phone and lifted her chin enough to look him in the eye. “My stuff’s still upstairs.”

“I’m leaving this here,” she added minutes later as Oliver watched her pull on her coat. It was her laptop she offered him; Oliver held up a hand to decline the gift but she only pushed it further toward him. “Don’t say no. You’re going to be bored silly, and I still have my tablet at home. I’ll text you the passwords.

“Oh, and here,” she added matter-of-factly. Oliver studied the thing in her hand for a second before he laughed. 

“The book I was reading? Felicity Smoak, did you sneak this out of the library for me?”

“Sneak? Never! I checked it out to myself.” She grinned. “I know where you’re staying.”

“Thanks.” Oliver kept his eyes on the cover a moment longer. “See you tomorrow, maybe?”

Felicity nodded emphatically. “First thing. If I end up working I’ll come by as soon as I’m done.”

They held hands in the elevator and through the halls. She squeezed his fingers lightly when she saw the familiar outline of John’s car outside the main entrance, but before she could untangle herself Oliver snagged her coat with his free hand and pulled her into his body. His mouth came down over hers with a sigh. 

“Felicity,” he whispered against her lips at the end of the kiss.

Her eyes had fluttered shut at the contact but at the sound of her name she swallowed and looked up at him. 

“Wow.”

He smiled as he kissed her again lightly. “I agree. You took me by surprise yesterday, so I thought I should return the favor.”

He kissed her one last time before releasing her. “Get some rest.”

Felicity sighed softly but dutifully walked out into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

Felicity’s ringing phone woke her twelve hours later; she flailed about with one hand before she found it on her nightstand and pulled it into the cocoon of her bedding. 

“I’m sick,” a voice that sounded like a pathetic version of Barry Allen greeted her. “I helped shovel sidewalks all day yesterday and caught a cold. I’m so sorry, Felicity—“

“No, s’okay,” she mumbled, scrubbing furiously at her closed eyes with her free hand. “I got it. I’ll go. Feel better.”

“Thank you. Sorry. I owe you one.”

“Mmmhmm.” She got the hang up button on the third try and dropped the phone next to her. “Ten more minutes,” she muttered to no one. 

An hour later her head shot up off the pillow in horror. Felicity scrambled out of bed and flew into the bathroom to start the shower; the water always took forever to warm up, a problem that seemed to perpetually fall to the bottom of the Investigate and Fix list. She was brushing her teeth when she remembered that her car was still buried under 30 inches of snow. She groaned around the handle of her toothbrush. 

She threw on pants and a thick sweater, grabbed a cold Pop Tart to go, and scrambled into her coat before she thought to look out the window in the front door: A path had been shoveled from the door to her cleaned-off car, and enough of the parking area had been cleared that she could get out of her driveway. Her shoulders slumped with relief. 

The library was busy all morning as patrons they hadn’t seen in ages returned to the newly-famous branch to let them know they’d seen the news segment. Cisco rolled his eyes for her benefit once but otherwise took the fuss in stride. The streets outside were still quiet, but normal vehicle traffic was slowly resuming. Independent contractors with heavy plows mounted on the front of their pickup trucks had taken over the streets, tackling parking lots and alleys, the smaller spaces the giant city trucks couldn’t get into. 

School had been called off; kids of every age occupied half the public computers, fussing and arguing with enthusiasm as they played games and watched YouTube. Felicity spent more of her morning breaking up squabbles and prowling the public spaces for disturbances than she did behind the desk. 

Oliver texted just before lunch to tell her rounds had just finished and asked her to call when she could. She caught Cisco’s eye and waggled her phone at him before heading to the break room to call him back. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Good morning.”

“Did you get some rest?”

“Yeah. I’m at work, though. Barry’s sick.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I had a lot to do here anyway. What’s up? How’s Slade?”

“In the short term he’s okay. But his lungs are bad, his heart’s bad. He’s...he’s not going to get better, they say. He needs long-term care, not the streets, but...”

“But he won’t want to go.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in mutual silence for a breath. 

“I can pay for it, I don’t care about that,” Oliver continued, “but it’s not what he’ll want. He’ll hate it. He’ll probably hate me. So do I insist and keep him around longer, which’ll make him miserable, or let him check himself out to die on the streets?”

Felicity bit her lip and wished with all her might she was at the hospital with him. 

“Is he awake?” 

“He stirs, but he hasn’t opened his eyes yet.”

“I’m here until 2, and then I’ll come straight over. Maybe by then he’ll be awake and the three of us can talk about it.”

“He’d appreciate you being here, I think.” There was a breath of hesitation. “I know I would.”

Felicity smiled into the phone. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

—————————————————————

He was waiting in the hall for her, and as she reached him he stepped forward and wrapped her up without a word and just held on for several seconds before whispering “Hi” next to her ear. Felicity squeezed him tight.

“Is he awake yet?”

Oliver leaned back and looked down at her with his hands falling to his sides. 

“Just now.” He pulled his arms in and crossed them over his chest, a sign that he was nervous. “You ready?”

Felicity chewed her bottom lip but nodded assent. 

Slade’s eyes were closed as they walked in, and for a second Felicity felt a rush of both relief and guilt, but then his head turned their way and he squinted up at them. He looked annoyed.

“Where’d you go, kid?” 

Oliver’s mouth opened, but before he could make an excuse a tired smile lit the patient’s face.

“Miss Felicity.”

She smiled warmly, her unease evaporating as she slipped back into librarian mode. “Hey, Mr Wilson. How are you feeling?”

He huffed a laugh that sounded a bit like a swear. “Trussed up, poked, and prodded like a Thanksgiving turkey.” He turned a half-hearted glare on Oliver. “I suppose I have you to blame for this.”

Oliver only smiled with the corners of his mouth. Slade’s eyes closed again; Felicity glanced up at Oliver and they gave each other a look.

“Mr Wilson, you need to be here right now. You were pretty bad off when Oliver found you, and the weather is terrible at the moment. This is the safest place for you.”

He didn’t reopen his eyes, but his brow furrowed. 

Oliver licked his lips, clearly debating his next words. “The bills are taken care of. For as long as you need to be here to get better.” It was silent save the beeping monitors for a couple of breaths. “Let me do this for you.”

Slade looked like he wanted to reply but then his features relaxed. He’d drifted off. Felicity’s hand slipped under Oliver’s elbow and that got him moving. They returned to the hall where he fell back against the wall with a sigh. 

“Well, that wasn’t...terrible,” she decided. She leaned her shoulder against the wall next to him, her hand still tucked between his arm and his body.

Oliver shook his head. “He didn’t give consent, though.”

“Give him time. You saw how exhausted he is. Even if he demanded to go this second he wouldn’t have the strength. In the meantime...” She rested her chin on his shoulder and waited for him to look at her before she smiled. “Take a girl to lunch?”

————————————————————

Following their second hospital cafeteria date—supplies had finally made it in, so there was more than jello to eat—they returned to the room and a sleeping Slade. Without planning to they both curled up in the recliner as they had the night before, Oliver scrunched to the side so Felicity could snuggle in beside him, and she promptly fell asleep. Despite his night of intermittent dozing filled with interruptions for vitals checks Oliver couldn’t join her, so he snagged her laptop one handed from the bedside table and carefully fired it up. 

He watched sports updates on mute for awhile, but found his thoughts drifting to the file he knew was saved just under the tab he had open. He suppressed a sigh and finally clicked over, opening the video clip from Channel Six News of the day he got his memory back. 

He watched the segment without sound, cringing less and less the more times he pressed play and familiarized himself with every detail of the scene. He couldn’t hear it, but Felicity’s scream as he went down under Seldon’s elbow echoed in his brain. Without conscious thought his fingers found her ponytail, and he let the strands of her hair play through his fingers as he clicked the video to life again and again. 

On maybe the fifth replay his body suddenly stiffened. His fingers fumbled across the keys blindly in search of a way to run the footage back a second or two, because something his eyes had seen had triggered ice water to flood his veins and he needed to know why. Felicity shifted against him, coming closer to consciousness in response to the tension in his body. 

Oliver sucked in a breath when he finally realized what he’d seen, and beside him Felicity mumbled “What?” against his shoulder. He turned his head and left a kiss on her forehead without looking away from the screen. 

“Something...” he trailed off quietly, still working it out. He felt her head lift off his shoulder.

“On the video?” Her voice was rough from sleep. 

“I know these guys,” he finally offered as his fingers brushed against the screen. “Well I don’t KNOW them, but they look very familiar. And I’m not sure why.”

He felt her body tense under his arm, feeding his own adrenaline rush.

“Those guys? The three right there?” Felicity scooched closer, making the vinyl chair under their bodies creak in protest. He turned the screen toward her a bit more. She studied it another long second before looking at him. “Those are the guys who stole the plumbing out of the men’s restroom. We have security footage of them.”

She reached past him to tap the keys and pull up another file to show him confirmation. Oliver studied the two images in silence. Then he closed his eyes and returned to that night, the noise and the cold and later—after the drugs and the alcohol—the swirling colors and blurry shapes, to a skinny guy with a funny name and a mountain that gathered him up and carried him around like a doll. 

“Gummy,” he said suddenly, opening his eyes and pointing him out. “That was his name. That guy, and that one.” His finger moved to the giant. “We met them in the first bar. Or I THINK it was the first bar. My bud—the guy I was with bought drugs off them. They must’ve taken us to their apartment or something. That’s when they would’ve called my mother.” He studied the screen again before tapping on the one with the tattoos. “That guy may have been there too. I don’t know.”

The hand that had been playing with her hair dropped to her shoulder when he finished speaking, as if remembering that much had exhausted him. Felicity leaned in to get one last look before splaying her fingers over his chest. 

“This is important, Oliver. We should take this to the police and tell them what you just told me. With that and the footage of them stealing the plumbing, they might actually be able to get these guys.”

She was animated now, though she kept her voice low so as not to disturb Slade. Oliver squeezed her arm but didn’t look away from the screen for a long time. 

—————————————————————

The next time Slade woke Felicity was gone for the night. Oliver had suggested he send the footage from the news story and the security camera to a friend of the family in Starling, the man who had accompanied his mother to Central City in order to search for him. It didn’t sit well that he was asking a favor of the man who might be making moves on his mom, but Lance did have a relationship already started with the CCPD, so it seemed less complicated to explain his memories to the detective and let him take it from there. Still...

Oliver sighed as he watched his friend blink himself to consciousness. There were issues at home tugging at him, even as he felt the overwhelming need to do right by this man. 

And stay with Felicity. 

“Hey,” he said softly when Slade eventually turned his head and regarded him. 

“So you remember.” Already he sounded more lucid, more himself, then he had the last time. “Everything?”

Oliver pushed his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Most everything. The night we met is still a bit of a blur.”

Slade smiled tiredly and focused on the ceiling. “And you’re rich, I take it?”

He huffed a laugh. “It would appear so.”

“Fucking figures.”

Oliver smiled sadly, wanting it all to be funny, but it wasn’t.

“So listen,” he began, deciding it best to jump right in, “the doctors have looked you over, and they think it’s best if you stay here a bit longer and then move into a rehab until you’re stronger—“

“Hell no.”

“The weather—“

“No.”

“Slade, listen—“

“Stay out of it, Kid.”

“Let me do this for you,” Oliver pleaded, his voice pitched low and his eyes on his shoes. “I would’ve died on the streets without you, and you didn’t have to...” Words failed him for a moment. “It was a risk, and you took it for a stranger who could do nothing for you. But now I can. Let me do this.”

“Do what? Put me in a home? Pay someone to feed me and change my diaper? Play fucking BINGO?” His voice was a roar by the end, an impressive feat for someone with his lungs. A nurse poked her head into the room and shot Oliver a look, then proceeded to Slade’s bedside to check his pulse as Oliver shifted out of her way. 

“Slade—“

“GET THE FUCK OUT!!”

Oliver fled, Slade’s bellow chasing him down the hall as more nurses passed him, headed to the room with the out of control patient. He closed his eyes as the elevator doors shut and rode it to the lobby, turning blindly as he stepped out to walk the halls in a haze of pain. 

He took his phone out three different times to call Felicity, but he always stopped himself from dialing; he’d told her to go straight to bed and he didn’t want to disturb her. 

The next time he checked his phone he made a noise of distress; an hour had passed as he’d wandered the hospital. Oliver realized he was holding his breath and made himself exhale and inhale slowly as he rode back up to Slade’s floor. A nurse at the reception desk flagged him down.

“We got him calmed down, finally, but I can’t let you back into his room. He won’t see you and you aren’t family.” She looked unhappy saying it. 

Oliver nodded faintly. “I understand.”

She held out Cisco’s parka and a clear plastic drawstring bag containing Felicity’s laptop and the other small, random items he’d accumulated over the last couple of days. He took them without comment, tucking the bag under his arm and reaching for a pen. 

“Can I leave my number with you? I know you won’t be able to give me updates,” he added quickly, “but in case you have a billing question.”

“Sure.” She watched him write and took the paper when he offered it. “And for the record, we’re really grateful for what you’ve done. Even if he isn’t.”

Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat and turned away without comment. 

The wind hit him first, an icy slap that felt deserved. He considered calling for a ride, fleetingly, but communicating his needs to a stranger seemed out of his capability. It was after eleven, too late to call Felicity and drag her out of her snug little house to fetch him. Raising his head into the razor sharp wind made his eyes water. Suddenly that little house—and the girl inside it—were all he wanted in the world. 

Oliver began to walk. 

—————————————————————-

Despite the fatigue brought on from the last few days, Felicity had trouble winding down. Oliver—and Slade—were constantly in her thoughts, swirling through as images of the homeless man hooked up to beeping machines and the feel of Oliver’s solid chest under her fingertips. The seriousness of the setting kept the romance factor tamped down but it was undeniably there, simmering below the surface. 

She curled up and tried to watch tv, but being on the couch reminded her of Oliver. The bowl of cereal she scarfed at 10pm reminded her of the breakfasts they’d shared, and the blanket with her mother’s heaving bosom on the front—even wrapped around her shoulders so she couldn’t see it—reminded her of the night they’d hung out in her loft talking about everything and nothing at all. 

She couldn’t get away from him. 

And that was probably not a good thing.

She tried very hard not to think about it, but other images of him superimposed themselves over the tv show she was trying to watch: Oliver declaring his love to her and moving to Central City, settling in to her little house and finding a job he was passionate about. He should work with people, she decided. He had a nurturing and protective instinct about him. 

Felicity remembered the looks on her colleagues’ faces at the gala—it seemed like a million years ago now—their expressions of surprise and admiration at the two of them together. She let her imagination spool out for a minute as she pictured a life together of fun evenings out on the town and romantic picnic lunches in her favorite park, the one with the giant oak trees across the street from the downtown library. 

“Stop it,” she admonished herself out loud. It seemed cruel, torturing herself like this, because for all their cuddling and hand holding—and the two kisses they’d shared—he still hadn’t said anything about making their relationship official. 

He also never said he didn’t have a girlfriend back in Starling, she reminded herself. 

Felicity huffed a sigh of frustration and flipped through the channels, looking for a distraction. 

—————————————————————-

His feet went numb first, which was curious considering he no longer had to trudge through 30 inches of snow. The sidewalks were mostly cleared, but where they weren’t he could easily step out into the street to walk. The fingers went next, tingling and achy even shoved into the fleece-lined pockets of the parka. Oliver buried his face further into the collar of the coat and did his best not to think about his ears. 

He tried out a jog, thinking it would eat up the distance faster, but quickly figured out there were patches of nearly-invisible ice on both the sidewalks and the streets, so he changed his strategy to counting his steps. 

When he got to one hundred he started over. 

—————————————————————

A Harry Potter movie marathon caught Felicity’s attention; she dropped the remote next to her hip and snuggled further into the couch. She considered texting him, in case he was still awake, but if he wasn’t she didn’t want to disturb him. Instead she let the pageantry of the Tri-Wizard Tournament’s opening ceremony carry her away. 

—————————————————————-

Just as he thought he’d have to give in and call her Oliver found her street; he made his numbed feet trudge on. 

——————————————————————

Felicity dipped her nose under her blanket and blinked sleepily at the television screen. A few more minutes of this and she’d be tired enough to drag herself to bed, but first she needed to see Harry and Neville researching gillyweed; the library scenes were always her favorite. 

————————————————————

He missed her alley the first time and almost gave up; laying down against the side of a building to get out of the wind had become very tempting. But he made himself retrace his shuffling steps and finally found it. 

————————————————————

Living alone had taught Felicity that houses made odd sounds at night, and all of them had a reasonable explanation. But the giant WHUMP she heard against her front door just as her eyes were slipping shut still made her cry out in fear. She blinked at the tv a couple of times, her heart racing, as she waited to see if the sound would come again or if it had been a dream. 

“I should get a dog,” she muttered to no one, mostly to hear something besides her own galloping heartbeat. The front door was five steps away. Her bedroom was five steps the other way. Decisions, decisions. 

A peek won’t hurt, she told herself as she slowly unfolded from her cocoon of blankets and tiptoed to the door. Her heart stopped when she realized something definitely WAS there, a dark lump against the door. A bear? A big bag of garbage? A bear made more sense than garbage, surely. Who would throw a trash bag at her front door? The silent debate raged on in her head as her hand—unbeknownst to her brain—slowly reached for the switch to the porch light. She was almost surprised when the light flipped on. 

Felicity recognized Cisco’s parka immediately.

He more or less fell onto her feet when she wrenched the door inward. 

“Oliver?! Oh my god what are you doing here?!”

There was no answer, but she could feel him attempting to lift his own weight when she hauled on his arm to get him up. Between the two of them he cleared the doorway so she could shut out the icy cold, but he only lay on the floor, shivering, after. 

Felicity knelt next to his head and pushed back the coat’s hood to get a look at him. 

“Oliver, wake up. I need help getting you to bed. You’re really heavy.” She cradled his frozen face between her hands and wanted to weep at his continual stupidity. “Oliver, please,” she begged. 

She felt him nod against her fingers and he sort of rolled toward her in order to get his hands on the floor. When she wrapped her arms around his middle to help stabilize him she felt the hard lines of her laptop under his coat. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” she moaned, heartbroken that the idea hadn’t occurred to him. 

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he grunted, finally confirming that his tongue wasn’t frozen, at least. He staggered in the direction of the couch but she tugged on him at the last minute and steered him toward the hall to her room. Oliver obeyed without protest. 

Felicity flipped on the bedroom light so she could inspect his extremities as she stripped off the parka and dropped it on the floor. Shoes and socks came next; he hissed in pain but made no comment as she knelt to help him remove them. His fingers couldn’t undo his pants so she did that too; undressing him felt—thank god—more clinical than romantic, because she didn’t dare spend any time thinking about the next thing she had in mind. 

“Into bed,” she ordered when he was down to his boxers. She flung up the covers and pointed with as stern a look as she could muster under the circumstances. He almost looked like he wanted to protest, but he crawled in with a groan and allowed her to bury him under the thick comforter. 

Felicity didn’t let herself stop to ponder the giant lump she could see visibly shivering; she pulled her hoodie over her head, exposing the thin tank top underneath, and discarded it as she circled the bed and quick as a jackrabbit climbed in on the far side. Her toes found him first and she almost retreated, plan aborted, but gritted her teeth and wriggled closer, not stopping until she was up against him and could wrap her arms around him. His ears were so damn cold; she used her elbows to shift higher, guiding his head against her chest where she could better cover his ears with her arms. Oliver moaned and burrowed against her, though his arms stayed wrapped around his own body. 

He was in no condition to think this was sexy either. 

He was so cold it physically hurt to hold him, and the heat of her own body quickly leached away against his, but she didn’t let go. One of her shoulders was exposed above the edge of the comforter and began to protest the cold; she did her best to ignore it. It’s nothing, it’s nothing compared to his, she chanted in her head. 

Oliver’s shivering wracked her own body as well, and she listened to him stifle groans of pain as the feeling came back to his hands and feet. 

“I should take you to the hospital,” she murmured once, a threat neither of them believed she’d actually carry out. He burrowed closer in response. 

His breathing evened out before Felicity managed to fall asleep, so she let her head tip so she could rest her cheek against the top of his head. This was not the picture she’d had of their first time in bed, but it did feel like them, somehow. She took a chance on waking him and wriggled her freezing shoulder under the comforter before falling asleep. 

—————————————————————

The next time she woke his big body was burrowing closer again, but in a decidedly different fashion. His nose was brushing the side of her neck at the same time his knee shifted between both of hers. She let him roll her onto her back, still fuzzy-headed with sleep, feeling no uneasiness at what she suspected was about to happen. When his lips met her skin she lifted her chin higher in approval. 

His arms, she realized, were no longer tucked up against his own body but wrapped around her, so when he came to rest over her his elbows took most of his own weight. She slid her knees out to either side of him to allow him to rest in the cradle of her hips, taking his weight off her legs too. He lifted his head to study her in the dimness of early morning. 

“Is this okay?” he murmured, holding very still until he got an answer.

She only nodded—concerned about her breath, suddenly—and saw his head tip to the side. 

“I need to hear the word,” he whispered, his body still perfectly quiet.

“Yes,” she replied, lifting up at the same time to find his mouth, the state of her own breath forgotten. 

He moved very slowly, methodically, giving her ample opportunity to slow him further or even stop him, but she never did. Felicity wanted to pinch herself, it was so dreamlike, his mouth doing exactly what she’d imagined it might if they ever got this far. He made her confirm again as he worked her pj bottoms off, and stopped once more—she marveled at his self control—to ask permission before the point of no return. 

It had been awhile—and he was big—but Oliver’s care and caution paid off when he finally began to move inside her, slowly building the tension in her own body along with his. Her cry as she fell apart was as much surprise as pleasure, and before she had returned to earth he dropped his forehead to hers and moaned out his own release. 

They stayed that way, foreheads touching, for a full minute after, and when he finally shifted to the side he pulled her with, keeping contact all along their bodies and tucking her under his arm. 

“Thank you for rescuing me,” he whispered just as she fell asleep. 

————————————————————

The next time Felicity woke she could tell he was awake too, not least because his fingers were carding lightly through her hair.

She sighed. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Oliver huffed a laugh of surprise and squeezed her once. “So I’ve been told.”

“I can’t believe I have to ask you this again, but can you feel your toes?”

He bent a leg and walked his toes up the side of her leg at the same time his fingers worked their way around to her waist, presumably to tickle. 

“DON’T even think about it!” she squeaked, wriggling back from his advances. Oliver chuckled but relented, lifting his hands away to prove himself trustworthy. Felicity snuggled back in to him immediately.

“You didn’t answer,” she mumbled grumpily, even as her arm snaked over his middle to tug him closer. 

“All wiggling and accounted for,” he promised. 

Felicity let go of him long enough to rub her eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven,” he confirmed after lifting his head above hers to check the alarm clock. “Do you have to go to work?”

“Nope.”

Oliver rumbled approval deep in his chest. 

“What would you like to do today?” she asked through a yawn. 

He answered by hauling her up on top of him. He grinned at her tiny squeal of surprise.

“This,” he said softly. 

—————————————————————-

They were just drifting off to sleep again an hour later when her phone rang. Felicity groaned but fumbled for it and picked up even as Oliver roused and tried to distract her in the most delicious way.

Her good mood immediately sank when she heard the voice on the other end.

“No, it’s okay...I know...Sure. I’ll change the schedule when I get in...Yeah, I will. Feel better, Barry.” She hung up with a sigh. 

“Let me guess...” Oliver began, the disappointment evident in his voice.

Felicity dropped her head and burrowed against his shoulder. “Still sick. I gotta go in.”

“All day?”

“Yeah, but Cisco might be able to come in early. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime—“ She pushed up off him and got the satisfaction of hearing him groan in protest as her warmth left him—“you should get some more sleep.” She dived back in for a kiss with a saucy grin. “Conserve your energy.”

Oliver hummed with pleasure and reached up to cup her face between his hands to hold her still so he could kiss her back. 

He drifted off to the sound of the running shower, his thoughts crowded with images of her body under the spray of the water...of her body under him...

——————————————————————

He slept hard and didn’t wake until his phone buzzed on the nightstand. His sister’s name was on the screen. It was noon.

He cleared his throat before he answered, feeling guilt, suddenly, that he hadn’t spoken to her before now. “Hey, Thea.”

“Oliver, this is Walter. There’s been an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the bright side, the next chapter is already started...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am the actual worst at replying to comments, but I love and appreciate every one of them, so thank you!!   
> There are some medical scenes coming up, and talk of accident trauma, in case that’s a trigger.   
> And even though this is an AU I threw in a Season 7 Easter egg. See if you can find it. :)

The jet had been ordered into the air even before Walter made the phone call; Oliver had to scramble to get ready once the Uber was scheduled, leaving time for only a rushed phone call with little explanation to Felicity on the drive to the airport. 

The flight was torturous. 

The family’s Rolls Royce already waited, running, on the tarmac when they landed. His heart thudded painfully to see the driver jog around the back of the car to get his door before he’d even made it to the bottom of the steps. The urgency of everything was completely terrifying. 

He called Walter from the car on their way to the hospital.

“She’s in surgery now. It’s been three hours so far.” The smooth, cultured tone of his voice didn’t match the gravity of the words coming out of his mouth, but Oliver knew enough to recognize the Englishman’s attempt to remain solid and calm amidst the chaos.

“Thea?”

“She’s waiting to see you.”

The hospital smells were at once foreign and eerily familiar, though the scenery changed dramatically once he ascended the elevator to the almost opulent wing bearing his family’s name. Walter was there, pristine save for a missing jacket, the only clue that he wasn’t altogether himself. 

He pulled Oliver into a silent hug that nearly made him burst into tears. When it was over Walter pushed him gently to arms length and spoke softly but clearly.

“Your mother decided to drive Thea to school this morning. She’s found she enjoys driving again, without a security detail. There was a pileup on the interstate. Fifteen vehicles. Not everyone survived.”

Oliver swallowed, unsure of his voice. “How’s Thea?”

“Miraculously, she only suffered a broken wrist and a bump on the head. It was your mother’s side that took—“

Walter stopped himself and glanced away even as he took Oliver’s elbow and turned down the correct hall. “They’re doing everything they can.” He attempted a smile but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Let’s find your sister.”

Thea was dressed in one of those thin, flappy hospital gowns with a pair of pale pink sweatpants sticking out the bottom. She gave a little cry as he turned the corner into her room and looked like she wanted to jump down and throw herself at him, but she also looked a little disoriented and unsteady with the cast on her arm. Oliver crossed the room in three quick strides and scooped her up off the exam table. 

She stiffened reflexively and moaned an “ow” but squeezed him as tight as one arm would allow, burying her face into his neck and heaving a sigh that sounded like it wanted to be a sob. Oliver’s eyes welled with tears.

“You okay?” he finally managed, pressing his lips together after in an attempt to keep it together. When she didn’t answer he dropped his face against her shoulder and grit his teeth in anguish. Soon after he felt Walter’s hand on his back.

They pulled apart finally and Oliver let go of Thea long enough to swipe a hand under his eyes but kept one arm firmly around her shoulders. Prepared to hold her together all by himself if necessary.

“Have you eaten?” Walter asked quietly. He had a way of looking at you that let you know he was really seeing you, that he cared. Oliver shook his head no and squeezed his sister once, lightly, but she only stared off into nothing. Still in shock, probably. 

“I’ll order something up,” the Englishman continued before excusing himself. 

There was a chair in this room not unlike the one he’d been sleeping in at Central City hospital, so Oliver walked her over to it carefully and sat, arranging them both so her newly-cast arm was out on top and then leaning back into the recliner. There was less of Thea than Felicity, somehow, but then she’d always looked like the slightest breeze could blow her away. She fit against him anyway, just with more angles and sharp edges. 

“Where have you been?” she mumbled eventually, sniffing after as if she’d been crying though she’d shown no other sign.

Oliver sighed. “Central City. I had to go back. There were...things I needed to take care of.”

“I heard mom say it was a girl.”

Despite their current situation and the mention of their mother Oliver felt his mouth lift into a kind of a smile. “Her name is Felicity.”

“Felicity. That’s pretty.” Thea sniffed again. “Are you back to stay?”

Tears leaked this time. “I’m here as long as you need me, Speedy,” he promised. 

She fell asleep soon after, which caused Oliver no small amount of concern considering the probable concussion, but her nurse stopped in and only gave him a sad smile, so he didn’t try to wake her. A tray of food arrived—which he ignored—and also a blanket.

He accepted that gratefully.

Thea was still asleep when Walter came to get him; Oliver eased out from under her and covered her back up with his heart in his throat; it was impossible to tell from Walter’s demeanor what the news would be. 

A tall, handsome surgeon in his late forties waited for them at the end of the hall. He looked weary, but five solid hours in a single surgery would probably do that to you. Oliver’s stomach dropped like a stone. 

The doctor offered his hand while Oliver screamed inside his own head, then shifted his weight like he wanted to rest a shoulder against the wall. 

“Your mother sustained severe injuries in the car accident, Mr Queen.”

Mr Queen was my father, Oliver thought crazily.

“Her pelvis was shattered, she suffered multiple broken bones, and a lacerated kidney.” 

Oliver felt a hand on his upper arm and realized Walter was holding him steady. He’d been listing sideways.

“We’ve stabilized her and set what we could, but there will be more surgeries in her near future, not least the one needed to rebuild her pelvis. When she’s stronger.”

Oliver blinked a couple of times, so sure this man had been telling him all the reasons why they couldn’t save his mother that he’d almost missed the fact that he was still speaking in the present tense. She was alive.

My mother is alive. 

“We’ve put her in a coma for now. It’s the best way to manage her pain until all the repairs are made. You’ll be able to see her, but don’t expect much until we can bring her out of it and move her out of Intensive Care.”

Walter squeezed his arm once, a Steady On just between them. For both of them, probably. Oliver gathered himself enough to nod acknowledgment but let Walter convey the thanks. 

He turned back for Thea’s room. 

The cityscape out the window was a blur of moving lights against the darkness by the time someone came in to release his sister and send them home. Walter was there behind the nurse, not hovering—no Brit in the history of the world had ever hovered—but present, ready to help and steady and guide if need be. He and Oliver waited outside for Thea to dress, then the three of them traveled down to the hospital entrance where they were whisked away home. 

Raisa met them, solid and calm and promising snacks and warm towels just by her expression. Oliver allowed her to pull him into a hug and found himself squeezing back harder than he’d planned, but she didn’t protest. She let go of him to sling an arm around Thea’s waist and guide her up the stairs to her room, leaving Oliver and Walter to say goodnight. 

Oliver ran a hand up over his face, suddenly light headed and nauseated from fatigue and hunger and everything a body’s left with after so much stress has drained it. He thought he might actually be sick. 

“Goodnight, Oliver. Eat something, and get some sleep. The hospital has your number and mine, in case there are any changes, but for now we rest. And wait.”

Oliver nodded, suddenly too weary to even make eye contact. “Thank you, Walter. For getting me here, and taking care of things.” He turned for the stairs; he didn’t have it in him to ask if there was anything he should be doing as far as QC was concerned, but Walter was already on it.

“A press release has been drafted. It will go out in the morning. I’d like you to look at it first.”

Oliver bowed his head, stopping with one foot resting on the next stair and the bannister taking most of his weight. 

“Okay.” Almost a whisper. 

“It’s already been emailed to you. Good night.”

The CEO of Queen Consolidated let himself out. 

——————————————————————

Somehow Oliver found the strength to check his email before falling on the bed. He slept hard for an hour and woke with a splitting headache, still clothed and on top of the covers. He dragged himself up to slurp water out of his hand from the sink while the shower heated up, then stood under a punishing spray of water so hot it turned his skin red. 

He slept again for twelve hours. 

Thea woke him the second time, her diminutive weight moving the mattress enough to pull him the rest of the way to consciousness. 

“Any news?” His voice was grating, sandpapery with sleep and dehydration. 

She shook her head once with her face tipped down but her eyes on him. Looking far into his soul, as usual. “Raisa’s bringing breakfast up. She said we could eat in here.”

“‘Kay.” As Oliver moved under the covers he realized he’d left off a step before falling into bed after his shower. He froze. “Give me a minute to get dressed?”

When his sister returned to his room she was accompanied by their housekeeper and a serving cart full of food. They tucked in to eggs, bacon, pancakes, and an assortment of fruit so exotic Oliver couldn’t identify it all. Thea, perched in the window seat, negotiated the distance from the plate in her lap to her mouth with the ease of a teenager having no thought of consequences and no memory of the disasters of toddlerhood. Her broken arm—thankfully not the dominant one—rested on a bed pillow Oliver had stuffed under it after seeing a look of pain crease her brow. 

Walter called just as they were finishing to say there had been no change overnight but they could go in and sit with their mother if they liked. Oliver shot his sister a questioning look above the phone and she nodded. Her eyes were solemn and faintly worried. 

“We’ll be in soon,” Oliver promised. 

“Good. Security will bring you in through the underground garage to avoid the press. They know what to do. Just trust them.”

He meant ‘do what they say’, but it was a nice way to put it. 

Raisa took one look at the two of them making their way downstairs and disappeared to the back of the house, returning with her coat on. Oliver blinked at her in wonder but let her take Thea’s good arm and shepherd her into the car. He squeezed in last and settled carefully next to the housekeeper. 

It was a rainy winter’s morning, chilly and a little windy. Central City’s mountains of snow and frozen streets already seemed a lifetime away. Oliver cradled his phone in both hands and thought of Felicity’s body under his. He started and erased several texts to her before darkening the screen without sending anything. 

The closer they got to the ICU the slower Thea’s footsteps became. Oliver caught Raisa’s eye over his sister’s head and raised an eyebrow and she nodded back once. He laid a hand very gently on Thea’s shoulder.

“Why don’t I go in first, okay?”

Raisa steered the pair of them to chairs along the wall to wait. Oliver took a second to breathe in and out and then stepped into the room. 

The privacy curtain was closed. The lights were low, and machines beeped intermittently. It reminded him of Slade’s room, but his feelings for the person in this hospital bed were so much deeper and more complicated. 

A nurse appeared around the corner of the curtain and he jumped in spite of himself. She looked startled too. 

“Are you family?” she asked immediately, her brow crimping sternly.

“I’m her son.” Oliver felt the ridiculous urge to hold his hands up to prove he was harmless. She looked him up and down and nodded once. 

“We’ve been told to look out for paparazzi.” She glanced back at the bed without moving out of his way. Her name tag read ‘Beccie’. “She’s stable. You know she won’t be able to wake up while you’re here.”

Oliver nodded. The nurse finally stepped aside to let him pass.

“But she might be able to hear you if you talk to her.” 

Oliver’s head swiveled back to her in surprise and she shrugged. “There’s been studies.” And with that she was gone.

Left alone, he turned his attention back to the occupant of the bed. This was the part he’d been dreading; car accidents were violent, messy things, and no one had said anything about the condition of her face. 

His breath rushed out in a whoosh. She looked perfect. 

Her hair was smoothed down, maybe not in her signature style, but presentable. Her face was turned slightly away from him and it looked like he could wake her just by clearing his throat. Reassured that this was, in fact, his mother, Oliver let his eyes drift down. 

The rest of her was a different story. 

Her body was...diminished, somehow. As if, under the blanket, her bones had been shifted and shrunk, moved around like puzzle pieces but fit back together in the wrong place. Various lines and hoses poked out from under the covers; her left arm was in a cast from the shoulder down.

Oliver swallowed a lump in his throat and moved around the end of the bed to get a closer look. His eyes flicked to the monitors even though he didn’t know what he was looking at. 

“Hey mom.” 

He licked his lips and tried again. 

“It’s Oliver. Thea’s here too. And Raisa. They’re outside.” He gestured their direction and immediately felt like an idiot. “The doctors say you’ll be okay, after some more surgeries.”

The softly beeping machines were his only answer. 

“I, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t here, to...to help. I should’ve been here—“ His throat closed up around anything else he might’ve said so he just stood there, miserable, and watched her breathe in and out.

“I’ll go...go get Thea.”

——————————————————————-

They ended up staying an hour. By the end Thea was beginning to look like she was in pain and Raisa, ever watchful, gave him a look that said it was time. 

Felicity texted as they were driving home and Oliver promised to call as soon as he had his sister settled. Raisa was watching; she smiled, soft and wise, when he looked up. 

He shut himself in his room to make the call, falling onto the bed as soon as she answered. 

“Hey there.” Her voice alone loosened his knotted shoulder muscles.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. Well I’m exhausted, but I’m fine.”

“How’s your mom?”

Oliver ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. “She’s stable. They’ve put her in a coma, to manage the pain. She has several surgeries to go, to put her back together.”

His voice broke just a hair at the end and Felicity made a small noise of concern. 

“I wish I could be there to help.”

“Me too. You don’t know how much.”

They sat in mutual silence for half a minute. Oliver imagined running his fingers through her hair and sighed.

“What’s been happening at the library?”

He closed his eyes and let her voice wash over him, picturing the scene as she shared the tales of the most interesting place he’d ever been. By the time she trailed to a halt, out of stories for now, he felt 100% better.

“Thank you,” he whispered, wanting to hold her more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. 

“Any time. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Goodnight, Oliver.”

“Night.”

——————————————————————

The next week followed a similar pattern, though Thea returned to school on the third day after the accident. Oliver sat with his mother for several hours at a time, sometimes quietly, but often speaking softly, telling her the stories from his time in Central City. Walter came by every day too, and sat with him the morning she went back in for the reconstruction of her pelvis. 

During their time together in the waiting room Walter caught him up on the happenings in the company. Oliver felt comfortable asking him questions, and promised to come by to see the reports firsthand. 

Before he knew it three weeks had passed and there was talk of bringing his mother out of the coma. That night he and Felicity talked for over two hours. 

He was at his mother’s bedside when she awoke, Thea tucked against his side, the rest of the bed surrounded by her doctors and nurses and one slightly annoyed anesthesiologist. 

In two more weeks they moved her out of Intensive Care into a regular room, a suite filled with sunlight and flowers and a near-constant stream of visitors. Thea’s cast came off the same day Moira sat in a chair for her lunch the first time and that night Raisa cooked up a feast and let the siblings eat in front of the television. 

Slowly winter made way for spring. 

———————————————————————

“They say you can go home any time you’re ready, Moira.”

The sun was dazzling, coming in through her hospital room window. She hadn’t seen them yet herself, but Thea reported every day on the progress of the daffodils and crocus in the beds on the hospital campus. Tulips couldn’t be too far behind. To compensate for not being able to see them herself, Walter had brought in pots and pots of early spring flowers—including tulips—raised in a greenhouse but still looking like they’d just been carried in from someone’s garden. They sat on every horizontal surface, cluttering the room with a riot of color and giving the nurses fits. Moira loved every bit of it. 

She looked around at the people in her room: Thea, tucked up in a nearby chair and head bent to her phone; Walter perching at the end of her bed, immaculately dressed but still warm and approachable and being careful of her feet; and Oliver, scrunched in beside her with his legs extended and his arms crossed, engrossed in a muted basketball game on the tv across the room. They had grown accustomed to hanging out here at all hours, eating hospital food, watching whatever they could find on the hospital tv channels. Thea did her homework here every afternoon using the bedside tray, and Walter went over QC’s numbers with Moira at least twice a week, their heads close together and her bed covered in papers.

It was time they all got back to normal, back to the mansion at the very least. Oliver was spending a few hours every day at the company with Walter, and if he didn’t love it he was at least taking it seriously. 

“A nurse and a physical therapist have been hired,” Walter continued, “and we’ve fixed up a room for you on the first floor.”

“Not the old groundskeeper’s room,” she teased softly. 

Walter tipped his head in amusement and took one of her hands inside his. “Not the groundskeeper’s room.”

“It’s a surprise,” Thea piped up.

“Also, did you just make a joke, mom?” Oliver hadn’t taken his eyes off the tv but there was an amused smile on his face. 

“I guess I did. And I can’t wait to see it.” She smiled softly. These visits could still wear her out easily, but she wouldn’t miss them for the world. The accident had returned her family to her, given her Walter besides. It was, perhaps, the biggest blessing-in-disguise she’d ever received.

“Let’s go home,” she decided.

———————————————————————-

He bought the flowers in the gift shop: Two red roses, some of that white fluffy looking stuff that always came with, and a tiny mylar Get Well Soon balloon on a stick that he couldn’t convince the cashier he didn’t want. He dropped THAT into the first trashcan he could find.

He hadn’t visited until now because she’d been in Intensive Care, and that seemed like a place only family should be. Plus hospitals had always made him nervous. But he’d heard she was in a regular room now, on the mend, and he wanted to see her. 

Their night together still played through his mind constantly. 

He winked at the nurse holding down the desk and rounded the corner to the long hall of rooms, searching eagerly for hers. 4587. 

He stopped just shy of her doorway when he heard voices; her people were there, Thea and Oliver, and the CEO. Walter. They were smiling about something, having a family moment. Walter was holding her hand, and Moira was radiant. Her room looked like a flower garden, and she was its fairy queen. 

Quentin made himself stay a moment longer to memorize the way the sun glinted off her hair, and even managed a smile before he turned away. 

He left the roses at the nurses desk and headed for the elevator.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to one and all!  
> I promised my Discord FAM I wouldn’t post this chapter until I had at least a good start on the next one, for reasons you will see. *wink*

“...you’ll see the numbers have held steady over the last three quarters, Mr Queen—“

“But what’s the actual impact on manpower? That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oliver? You asked me to remind you to eat.”

He turned with a brief smile for his executive assistant. His mother’s executive assistant, to be precise, on loan to him while she continued to recover at home. 

“Thanks, Lucy.” He returned his gaze to his coworker. “Look. I know losing that contract to Kord last fall was a blow, but I’d like to exhaust every possibility before we resort to laying off employees. Let’s find another way.”

He ushered the HR team out of his mother’s office, pausing long enough to collect his phone and confirm he had received no new messages. This had become the hardest part of his day-to-day routine, checking to see if Felicity had reached out. 

Their daily chats and frequent texts had dwindled to a short, vague exchange every couple of weeks. For a while he’d attempted to text her once a day regardless, but most of his messages went unanswered. Oliver didn’t know what to make of it, but it had slowly broken his heart. 

“If you’re leaving the building, you might want to avoid the city market. There’s a big librarian conference at the convention center.” Lucy gave him a wry smile. “It’s nerdapalooza out there.”

Oliver’s heart beat kicked up a notch but he kept his face still. “Good advice. Thanks.”

He headed directly for the front lobby.

This is crazy, he chided himself, even as his long strides carried him across the street and down a block to the market. It had been five months since he flew out of Central City in a rush, not knowing if his mother was alive or dead. In that time spring had come and gone, giving way to a beautiful Pacific Northwest summer of sunshine and mild temps. The breeze off the harbor lifted his hair and carried the cry of seabirds to him as he attempted to check every passerby for American Library Association credentials. He didn’t really expect to find Felicity here—surely she would’ve mentioned that she’d be in town—but he felt an overwhelming urge to find someone representing the Central City Public Library. 

If he got really lucky, maybe Cisco. Or Barry. 

Oliver picked a food vendor more or less at random and got into line, his head on a swivel as he watched city workers and conference attendees alike, all on their lunch break. As luck would have it, he was just turning away from the counter with his basket of burger and fries when the logo of Central City library caught his eye; he skirted around the end of the line and followed the two librarians out into the brick plaza. 

They found a bench facing the waterfront and sat, deep in conversation and unaware that Oliver was kinda sorta stalking them. A light post behind them made the perfect place to lean nonchalantly (he hoped) and tuck into his food as he pretended to watch the ships in the harbor. 

He didn’t recognize either woman—the name tag of one read Belen, the other was Marjorie—but just standing near them made him feel like he was back in the branch, surrounded by books and the quirky neighborhood crowd. 

He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

“...don’t know who will get Roma’s job.”

“Felicity doesn’t want it?”

Oliver’s burger stopped halfway to his mouth.

“I doubt she even applies, now that she’s—“

The woman speaking made a hand motion over her stomach that stopped his heart cold. 

“You think that would stop her? Where’s the father?”

“Who knows? She’s never even said who it is, as far as I know.”

Oliver held his breath, his lunch forgotten and his heart in his throat.

“Maybe it was that guy she took to the Gala. The one that punched the fireman.”

The other one shrugged, took a bite of her sandwich, and changed the subject. 

Oliver didn’t wait to see if they’d say anything else about Felicity; he dumped his mostly-uneaten lunch in the nearest bin and walked away in a daze. It was six blocks before he realized where he was and turned away from the water to make his way back to QC. 

As he rode up the elevator—to the top floor office he’d taken over but never felt completely comfortable in—a thousand questions spooled out in his brain. But only one answer.

“How was lunch?” Lucy asked as he walked in. 

“Hm? Oh. Enlightening,” he decided. He stopped and stared out the windows at the city skyline for a long moment. “Will you see if Walter’s available, please?”

—————————————————————

He stayed until the end of the day, working on the handful of projects he’d slowly taken on in his mother’s absence; he’d become quite fond of a couple of them. He scribbled instructions about each, sent a couple of emails, and collected the handful of personal items that had made themselves a temporary home on Moira’s desk. 

“Good night, Oliver,” Lucy offered as he passed her work station. He stopped and bumped his fist gently against the top of her desk a couple of times. 

“Night. And thanks.”

She looked equally startled and pleased, but he was already walking on. 

—————————————————————

The late afternoon sunlight was still streaming through the windows when Oliver strode in looking for his mother. Robert Queen’s study had always been one of the nicest rooms in the mansion; it had soaring ceilings, French doors to the terraced patio, and unmatched views of the lawn and trees beyond. Converted into Moira’s bedroom and sitting room it was even more so. Her favorite paintings—mostly still lifes of florals—graced the walls. The endless shelves of books had been edited to make room for photographs and sculpture, the stuffy leather furniture replaced with the soft lines and rounded edges of silk and damask-covered couches. Her hospital bed sat discreetly behind an antique rice paper screen.

Moira was sitting in a straight backed chair angled toward the view; her head turned at his approach and she smiled. 

“How was your day?”

It was the way she’d always greeted his father. It stopped him in his tracks. 

“Mom, do you have a minute?”

Moira looked down over herself with a wry smile. “It’s all I seem to have lately.”

Oliver resumed his journey across the room and reached down for her hand. 

“Have you walked today?”

“Of course. And done my exercises, and sat in the pool. Just like every day.” Her tone was mild, but he was trained to hear the exasperation underneath. 

“I have something I need to talk to you about. May I?”

Moira watched him closely before nodding toward the other armchair. He scooted it closer and sat.

“There are still some things I haven’t told you about my time in Central City. The first time. When I’d lost my memory.”

He paused in thought but she nodded that she was ready to hear it. 

“When I was away, I wasn’t always on the streets. There was a very cold night I couldn’t get into a shelter...”

—————————————————————

The sun had dropped to just above the tree line by the time he finished telling his story. Raisa had already come and gone with refreshments, and was now waiting discreetly by the door to ask about the start time for dinner. 

Moira took a deep breath before she spoke. “She sounds like a lovely girl, Oliver. Thank you for telling me about her.”

Oliver was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, but now he reached out slowly and took one of her hands in his. 

“There’s more. Something I just found out today. Something I still have to verify, but I believe to be true.” Moira kept his gaze steadily. “She and I are going to have a baby.” Just saying it out loud lit him up inside.

He watched her brow crease in confusion and nodded along. “I know. I have questions myself, but it’s completely possible. We were...together...the night before I left.” He couldn’t keep from blushing at the confession. A tiny smile transformed his mother’s face and he blushed harder.

“Oliver, you’re a grown man. You don’t have to be embarrassed about sex.”

“Mommmm...”

The smile grew. “I think you need to find out for sure, don’t you?”

Oliver nodded but dropped his eyes to find her other hand. He squeezed both. 

“That’s the other thing I have to tell you.”

————————————————————-

Walter came for dinner, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence, especially after the last few months. Thea flew into the dining room halfway through the salad course with no explanation, but that was pretty normal too. 

Oliver felt little to no shame using his mother’s boyfriend to help him talk up the idea of her returning—even part time—to her position at the company; they’d spent a good hour that afternoon in the CEO’s office strategizing their attack. 

Thea watched the whole exchange with mildly suspicious eyes. 

After dinner Walter excused himself with a kiss on Moira’s cheek and a vague sense of guilt for the tag teaming. Oliver flashed him a grateful look over his mother’s head as he took her arm and led her out onto the patio. The sun was setting but the air was still pleasantly warm. 

She liked to walk on his arm; mostly, he suspected, because that way she didn’t have to use her cane. Even stuck at home Moira always dressed elegantly in summer blouses and slacks; only her sensible footwear looked out of the ordinary.

“When will you go?” she asked, careful not to look at him but keeping a soft smile on her face just the same.

“Tomorrow, maybe? I just need to pack up.”

“We’ll have the jet ready,” she promised. Her free hand lifted to rest on his arm, and Oliver suspected she was unconsciously holding him close as long as possible.

“Actually, I thought I’d drive. I’ll need a car out there.”

Moira had rarely been in a vehicle since the accident and had to suppress a shudder. “Of course. Take your pick.” They stepped carefully into the grass and kept walking. “Have you thought about what happens if she doesn’t want your help?”

“I’m really hoping that won’t be an issue. But if she doesn’t want a...relationship...I’ll get an apartment and find a job. I still plan to be close. I have to be there. Now that I know, I can’t—“ his voice caught—“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The idea that he’d already missed the first few months of his child’s existence made him so dizzy with regret he wanted to sit down. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—blame Felicity for not telling him. He knew exactly why she hadn’t. 

He just needed to find a way to tell her that. 

Moira pulled him gently to a halt and back to the present; Oliver looked up to see his father’s headstone in the near distance. They’d chosen a slight rise in the landscape that looked out over the sculpture garden for Robert Queen’s final resting place. The sunset was magnificent, and the two of them drank it in together in silence for a moment. 

“I couldn’t have made it through the last few months without you.”

“It was nothing.”

“Oliver, it was everything. The way you’ve taken care of me, of your sister...getting up to speed on my responsibilities at the company, going in every day even when you didn’t want to—“

“I think that’s the definition of being an adult, mom,” he teased gently, his voice a little choked. 

Moira chuckled, close to tears. “Well we weren’t sure it was ever going to happen.”

It was his turn to give a wet laugh. She squeezed his arm once and he looked down at her.

“It has been an honor to be your mother. Always. But especially in these last few months. And now...” her eyes glistened with tears and he swallowed hard, “...it’s time for you to go live your life. Be something else. A father, maybe.” Her head tipped as she smiled. “It’s my fondest hope for you.”

They stood a minute longer before Oliver turned them both toward the house. 

“I need to tell Thea.”

————————————————————

It didn’t surprise anyone that the youngest Queen put herself in charge of helping him pack. Most of the shirts in his closet got a veto, but also a promise that she’d come out to visit and help him shop for new ones.

“Give me a chance to get settled, okay?” he countered in mild amusement. 

Thea flopped onto the bed with a huff. “Will you be home for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, Speedy.”

He and his mother had decided to keep the baby issue to themselves until he could find out for sure, but if it turned out to be true he’d have a newborn by the end of the year. The thought made his hands shake as he picked up a pile of tee shirts and dumped them in his suitcase.

“Unh uh. No.” She snagged the shirt on top and flung it aside. “Not the Winnetka Bowling League one. Not cool, Ollie.”

“Hey. They’re cool. I drove all the way to Portland to see them.”

“You are so sad.” They were both grinning. “I worry about you.”

Oliver made a grab for the shirt but she snatched it out of his reach and then swooped under his arm to crash into him for a hug. 

He rested his cheek against the top of her head and held on tight. 

—————————————————————

“I suppose you’ve heard.”

Raisa looked up at him, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen with his head tipped against it, and smiled. Since he’d come back Oliver had never missed the early Friday morning run into the City Market. She pushed the car keys across the counter to him and gathered up her list.

It was the middle of summer; the sun was up before them no matter what this time of year. She turned her head enough to get a good look at his profile as he squinted at the road ahead.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Raisa considered the question. “I think you’ve found your way home.”

She watched him swallow. 

“You know she might be...”

“Yes.”

He glanced her way with a tiny smile. “You always knew. That there was someone.”

Raisa shrugged. “I know each time you returned from Central City you came back a different person. This last time,” she paused a second and he glanced over at her again, “it broke your heart to return, even though you were happy to help your mother. Even though you never complained. I knew.”

“That I wouldn’t stay?”

“That you’d given your heart to someone completely. And forever. I always knew when you finally grew up you would be like this.”

He pulled his lips in and nodded, hoping she hadn’t noticed the tears threatening. 

“Will you go today?”

He nodded softly. “In the afternoon. I promised to take mom into QC later this morning to help her with the transition. Mostly so she won’t need her cane.”

Raisa chuckled knowingly and he smiled. She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed, then turned her attention back to the view out the windshield.

“Don’t let me forget to look for radicchio. It should be really good right now.”

————————————————————

Oliver closed the hatch on the big SUV and gave himself a minute to look around him before heading inside to find his mother. Her return to Queen Consolidated had been nothing less then triumphant; she’d handled all the fuss and fawning with grace and dignity, and she never let on it left her exhausted, even though he could tell.

He found her sitting in her chair again, but this time there was music coming from a small speaker on the table next to her. Was it his imagination, or was she swaying gently to the song?

“I didn’t know you were a Gladys Knight fan.”

Moira looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. “I’d almost forgotten myself, until a friend reminded me.”

She looked wistful, and a little sad; something told Oliver it wasn’t just because he was about to leave. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I feel like there’s a story I’m missing.”

His mother sighed. “Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking about what might have been.”

He looked like he wanted to question her further so she waved him off and changed the subject. 

“I take it you’re all set?”

“Think so. I have a little bit of shopping to do in the city before I head out.” The brief look he gave her was shining with promise and anticipation. Oliver scuffed the carpet with his toe, wanting a hug but not wanting to make her stand up to do it. He shouldn’t have bothered worrying.

Moira lifted one hand to him in a silent request for help, and Oliver thought she had never embodied her surname more than in that moment. He pulled her against him in a gentle hug, but the longer he held on to her the more he wanted to squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You won’t hurt me.”

He held on tighter and so did she.

————————————————————-

She spoke to Oliver on the phone the evening she realized she was two days late. Felicity had always been as regular as the sunrise. You could set an atomic clock to her periods, so two days late was news indeed. But she held her tongue. At a week late she almost told him, but he was unusually chipper—they’d moved his mother out of Intensive Care that morning—and she didn’t want to spoil the mood. 

At a month late she steeled her nerves to call him and get it out there, but that was moments before her boss phoned with two important pieces of news. One, that the three goons who had stolen their branch’s plumbing had just been caught in a similar act at a gas station and were currently being booked for both thefts. As Felicity digested this Roma also told her she was planning to retire.

“I want you to apply for my job.”

Felicity gulped like a goldfish. “Ah...um...”

“Regional Manager. You’re ready.”

“Roma...”

“Think about it, Felicity.”

And then she’d hung up.

At six weeks late the Diggles invited her over for dinner. She had been remarkably sickness-free to this point, leading her to finally drive out to a suburban pharmacy to buy a test just to convince herself it wasn’t all in her head, but those two pink lines had confirmed it once and for all. So she tucked into her dinner with enthusiasm, having studied up and learned that even this early extra calories were necessary. And she was always hungry. 

She scraped her plate clean and glanced up to find Lyla watching her like a hawk. 

“What?”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed faintly at the corners. “You ate your peas.”

Felicity looked stupidly at her empty plate. 

“You hate peas.”

John, at least, hadn’t noticed. He was busy attempting to get a mushy version of their own dinner into his daughter’s mouth with a spoon so small it was comical. 

“Maybe she’s decided to set a good example for this one,” he inserted smoothly between goofy faces at Sara. Lyla looked like she smelled a rat.

Felicity felt slightly ill. 

Every day, without fail, she spent the hour before she had to get up and the hour before she fell asleep trying to figure out how she got here and what she should do. Having been raised by a single mother she’d designed her life to avoid exactly this scenario. The education, getting the hell away from Sin City, keeping a few close friends and rarely going out, all fool-proof strategies to keep her out of situations like this. Clearly she’d had no contingency plan for the beautiful blue eyes and stupidly heroic instincts of Oliver Queen. 

But he had a life of his own, huge responsibilities suddenly, back in Starling City. He had a family who needed him. He had a right to know, of course he did, but with his mother’s health still being so fragile and his sister needing emotional support Felicity couldn’t bear to add to his stress level. What if she told him and he wanted her to move there; she had her life too, here in Central City. She loved her job, she loved the neighborhood, she loved her little house and the way it felt to come home at the end of the day and know she had built it and paid for it herself. 

This was the point Felicity reached every morning and every evening, and then she would rub her still-flat tummy and decide not to decide for yet another day.

—————————————————————-

Oliver spent his first night on the road in a bare bones motel that looked like it had seen better days, but it was clean and quiet save for the noise of the highway traffic.

He was up before dawn and on his way again, desperate to get through the miles of nothingness in the upper plains so he could drive through the miles of nothingness in the Midwest. 

He spent a lot of the day thinking about the future, but also getting used to being alone with his own thoughts. Most all of his life had been spent with other people: his family, the household staff, classmates, coworkers. Oliver had never, until now, been his own company. The voices on the radio were his only entertainment and when that went out—there were still places in the US where even satellite radio didn’t work—he drove in silence. He feared it at first, the quiet, and then he hated it. But by the time he stopped the second night Oliver had grown accustomed to the sound of only the thoughts in his head and nothing else. 

It was comforting to know he could live that way if he had to.

—————————————————————-

The tummy was not so flat anymore. Summer had crept in on the tail of spring and found her no closer to confessing her secret to the one other person in the world who should know. Which was a huge problem.

Because almost everyone else in her life now did.

Cisco and Barry, of course, were the first to ask. Quietly, in the employee break room as they were packing up to head out for the night, and Felicity had felt such a rush of relief at the confession she’d sobbed on both their shoulders in turn. John and Lyla were next, as she sat safe in their kitchen over a bowl of broccoli cheese soup she swore was the best ever made. Dig had remained calm, which was a relief, though she suspected the set of his jaw told a much different story on the inside.

Lyla, never much of a hugger, held on to her for a long, long time.

The rest of the library system wasn’t long in finding out, which didn’t surprise her and felt kind of fitting for an institution dedicated to the spread of information. Felicity could’ve done with less speculation on the identity of the father, but on the whole it wasn’t terrible. She was still on the fence about applying for the Regional Manager’s job; on the one hand those kind of positions didn’t come open all that often, but on the other hand she wasn’t sure tackling both a new job and motherhood—alone—was a winning combination.

“You all set?”

Felicity focused her attention Barry’s way and nodded. “Let me run to the restroom and then we can go.”

She had just turned away from the Circulation desk when she heard the sliding doors from the lobby swish open at the same time Cisco sucked in a breath.

————————————————————

It was the middle of the day by the time Oliver rolled into Central City. Exhausted as he was he drove to the library first, drawn to it like a magnet, like all the answers would be there. Felicity’s car wasn’t in the parking lot, but before he tried her house he felt the need to stop in and say hi. And maybe test the waters with Cisco and Barry.

His palms were sweaty and his heart raced. What if he’d come all this way for nothing? What if she’d pushed him away because she felt he’d trapped her? What if it wasn’t his? What if she wasn’t pregnant after all?

He was surprised how unhappy that thought made him.

Oliver pushed away the doubt, took a deep breath of muggy Midwestern summer air, and walked into the library.

She was there, just walking away from the desk, and before he could say her name Cisco saw him and gasped. His eyes flicked to the Circulation clerk and he mouthed a hello but focused back on Felicity immediately. It had been five months; he’d be able to tell just by looking at her, right?

——————————————————-

Felicity expected to feel a rush of things the first time she saw him again, but there was nothing but a buzzy blankness in her brain as she looked at Oliver for the first time in five months. There he is, she thought. The father of my child.

And he doesn’t even know.

————————————————————-

She was wearing a tee shirt three sizes too big and knotted on one side. On her small frame the style made it impossible to know if she was purposely wearing it to hide the swell he expected to see. Should he ask? Was that the kind of thing you led with after almost half a year? He thought not. Oliver glanced at the counter in front of him before dragging his eyes up to look her in the eye.

“Felicity. Hi.”

She swallowed once, visibly. 

“Hello.”

Silence stretched between them; Oliver felt both Cisco and Barry’s eyes on him. He started to say, “Is this a good time?” just as she asked him what he was doing in Central City. They both paused again, afraid to run over top of the other a second time.

“You go,” she said finally. He fought to keep his eyes on her face and not let them roam all over her body, seeking confirmation.

“Do you have a minute? We could talk?”

Felicity’s eyes flicked to Barry like she was weighing her decision. “We’re just heading out.”

“To a block party, actually. Hi Oliver.”

“Hey, Barry.” Oliver turned his attention back to her. Always her. Always. “How long will you be gone?”

“A couple hours.” Her reply came out flat. Uninviting. Barry appeared oblivious.

“You could come with,” he suggested brightly. “I think we have an extra shirt.”

Felicity’s face said she didn’t necessarily agree with Barry’s generous offer, but she gave no argument. 

“Okay,” he decided, trying not to sound too eager. “Sure.”

He met them in the parking lot expecting to cram himself into Barry’s Bug again, but instead found Felicity unlocking the doors to a small SUV. Oliver raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I traded up. To get ready for...for next winter. In case it’s, ah...a bad winter. Again.”

Her ramble trailed to a halt and they all endured a moment of uncomfortable silence before climbing in. Barry looked everywhere but at the two of them.

————————————————————-

It was a hot day. The uncomfortable, sticky/steamy kind of day promising a cold front in the near future. Oliver sat at a cheap folding table in a cheap folding chair with one leg stuck in a slight depression in the ground that made it wobbly and threatened to tip and roll him sideways into the grass if he didn’t pay attention. The shirt they’d given him—a “Readers are Superheroes” one advertising the Summer Reading program—was a size smaller than he normally wore, but based on the furtive looks Felicity—and Barry— kept giving him it probably still looked okay.

The block party was being held in a local park that was really just an empty lot with a bare bones playground and a couple of picnic tables, but the scenery hadn’t dampened the enthusiasm of the residents. There was a DJ set up in the adjacent parking lot, a couple of food trucks, and a bounce house, the generator of which was uncomfortably close to the library’s table and making casual conversation difficult.

Barry had his chair turned sideways as he applied face paint to the first in a long line of children waiting for him to transform them into Spider-Man, or a butterfly. Three totes of children’s books sat on the table in front of Oliver and Felicity, plus a box of random plastic toys and sidewalk chalk.

“Grab yourself a book and a toy,” Felicity offered brightly in her best children’s librarian voice. Two solemn, brown-eyed kids, a boy and a girl, considered her offer while a teenaged girl—probably their sister—encouraged them in soft Spanish.

When they had made their choices and moved on she sat down in her chair and looked at her hands. Oliver was hyper aware of Barry’s presence, even though he was turned away from them and absorbed in his face painting. 

“How’s your mom?”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Pretty good. She started back to work this week. She’ll have to be part time until she’s stronger, but I think this will help her recover faster.”

“It’s good that she has you to help out. I’m sure it’s been easier for her.”

He opened his mouth to tell her his days of helping out at QC had recently come to an end, but a family came up to the table and Felicity went back into librarian mode. Their table had continual traffic for several minutes, leaving Oliver with nothing to do but study her surreptitiously as she chatted away. There was definitely a bump under that shirt. He balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. 

At the next lull in foot traffic Felicity took the opportunity to sit. She crossed one leg over the other and stuffed her hands between them, focusing her gaze near him but not at him. Oliver’s pulse raced.

“I’m sorry about Mister—about Slade,” she offered to the air in front of him.

“Thanks.” Oliver sighed. True to the oath of confidentiality the hospital had not contacted him when Slade checked himself out three weeks after his return to Starling; his only clue was the final bill that arrived in the mail the following month. That and the phone call from Felicity to tell him Mr Larry had spotted Slade out and about. It had been months since then, and if anyone from the library had seen him around she hadn’t mentioned it.

“I should’ve come out to look for him right away, but mom was still in the coma and decisions had to be made daily, it seemed like...” He trailed off, feeling the old familiar guilt about being pulled in two directions over the past year. And now to know it was actually three directions but he hadn’t even been aware. Oliver took a big breath.

“Felicity—“

“Hey guys, it’s looking a little ugly to the west.”

Barry had turned in his chair to get their attention and was nodding to something behind them. They both turned around to look at the midnight blue sky heralding a storm on approach. A gust of wind hit them just then, and Oliver wondered absently if it had already been blowing but he hadn’t noticed. 

“You think we should pack up—” Felicity began just as a finger of lightning sliced through the blue with a grumble of thunder in pursuit. 

“That would be a yes,” Barry confirmed, already shifting to close up his paint sets.

Oliver moved first, rising to close the lids on the plastic totes of books as Felicity pulled the box of toys closer. 

“I’ll get it,” he ordered, not wanting her to lift. “Give me your car keys.”

She ignored him, striding away with the box in her arms. Oliver growled in frustration and scooped up a tote to follow behind. The wind picked up as they deposited their first load into her car; rain drops began to splat onto the pavement around them.

Barry passed them on their return trip, hurrying to get his art supplies in the car before it rained any harder. They watched lightning streak again over his shoulder and from the corner of his eye Oliver saw Felicity duck involuntarily. People were streaming around them, looking for shelter, the children screaming in delight.

“Go back to the car,” he tried again. “I can get the rest.”

She ignored him, her eyes squinted against the rain that was really beginning to batter them. Felicity pushed forward into a jog.

The skies opened then. Oliver watched sheets of rain sweep through the little park. He watched the DJ desperately trying to cover his equipment, the bounce house people fighting to secure their inflatable, adults scooping up their children and scrambling for shelter. It probably wasn’t a life threatening storm, but there was a strong sense of urgency nonetheless. 

“Should you be running?!” he blurted. If she heard him she didn’t answer.

Felicity beat him to the table by a stride, hauling the closest tote to herself and preparing to pick it up. 

“Felicity, don’t. Let me. Please.” His voice sounded panicked to his own ears, a combination of adrenaline and stress. Tendrils of hair were plastered to her face now, her ponytail limp. She stepped back, and as he took her place and stacked the totes he thought he saw her tug her clinging tee shirt away from her front. 

He was wet through, his fingers gripping the edges of the bottom tote and ready to lift, but he stopped and turned to face her.

“Felicity, I know.”

“What?”

His hand lifted in a small gesture toward her body.

“I know.”

The next lightning strike reflected in her glasses and his shoulders lifted in anticipation of the boom, but there was already a delay and only a dull rumble as the fast moving storm passed through. 

It meant the worst was already over.

“Who told you?”

Oliver shrugged a shoulder and felt the resistance of wet fabric against his skin. “No one. It’s a long story. But that’s why I’m here.”

She shifted her weight and cupped both hands under her belly automatically. Now that the secret was out there was no need to deny her natural instincts to protect it, he suspected. He forced himself to keep looking at her expression. Beneath the raindrops it was a mix of guardedness and guilt. 

“But for how long, though?”

It was a fair question. He didn’t have a good track record for long term planning. Or even short term planning. Not that she’d experienced, anyway. 

Oliver’s hands lifted away from his body briefly. He could tell her all his worldly possessions were currently sitting in a luxury SUV in the library parking lot. He could tell her he’d made a point to tie up the loose ends he’d been desperately holding together since his father’s death and his mother’s near-fatal accident. He could tell her he’d said a personal, heartfelt goodbye to his family before driving two thousand miles to stand in a flash flood with the love of his life.

“Hey guys—“

“I SWEAR TO GOD, BARRY.”

Felicity’s loud voice was impressive. 

“Sorry!” The lanky librarian retreated with haste to the parking lot. 

“We need to get you inside,” Oliver decided. There was too much to say, and the books were in danger of being ruined if they stayed out much longer. He turned back to the totes and lifted. 

When he swung around a second later she was already walking toward the car.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for all the love and support over this story! I did not intend for it to take so much of 2019 to complete, but now I’m free to work on all the other writing ideas banging around in my brain. 
> 
> As always, the “End Credits” songs for this fic are Rescue Me by Marshmello/ADTR and Best I Can by The Sea Gypsies. 
> 
> As we near the end of Arrow, rest assured that there are a myriad of stories still waiting to be told about these characters we love so much. Thanks, as always, for reading. Let me know what you think. ❤️

Barry was hunched forward in the back seat when Felicity opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat; she could tell he was trying very hard to be invisible. She heard the plunk of plastic totes in the back and then the hatch close, and knew she could be watching Oliver in the rear view mirror if she’d only look up. She kept her eyes firmly on the center of the steering wheel instead. 

He climbed in on his side and shut the door gently. If he was mad, it wasn’t showing. She turned the key and the SUV shuddered to life. The air conditioning had been on full blast when they arrived, and now it pumped air at them that immediately raised goosebumps on her arms. Oliver jabbed the a/c button to shut it off.

“Felicity...” he began.

Barry suddenly sat up straight in the back seat. 

“You know, I think the worst of it has passed over. The library’s not that far. I’m gonna walk.”

He scooted out the back before Felicity could even call his name. 

She sighed and dropped her gaze to the little mound under her shirt; she smoothed the wet fabric over it reverently. 

“I wanted to tell you so many times.”

“Were you afraid?”

The note of heartbreak in his voice made her look up at him; his beautiful blue eyes were wrecked. 

“Not of you. Never of you. I just...” She looked back down at her belly. “You had so much going on with your family, so much to deal with. And I knew you’d insist on coming back, to be here, and I...I didn’t want you to have more of a burden.”

“And you didn’t want to move out west.”

His voice was so soft and understanding she looked up at him and smiled sadly. 

“No.”

She watched his eyes drop to where her hands lay against the little bump that would be their child. A thing they’d made together. His fingers twitched, making her breath catch. 

“Felicity...” he whispered with wonder in his voice.

“You can touch.”

Oliver’s hand lifted slowly, crossing the space between them to rest lightly against her belly. 

“Do you know...?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. The ultrasound for that is next week. Would you like to go?”

“Absolutely.” Oliver’s face broke into a grin and his eyes glistened. His hand flattened, more comfortable now. Learning this new territory, or maybe remembering it from their one night together. Felicity kept watching his face.

“We need to get you dry,” he said finally, pulling his hand back to run it through his wet hair. It stood up in sexy spikes that made a little ache of need seize her. She wanted him, back in her bed. Back in her life. In her baby’s life. Something inside her...fluttered. She blinked once in surprise and froze, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, and waited for it to happen again. Oliver noticed immediately.

“Felicity? Is everything—“

She held up a hand to shush him as she felt it again. Little spurts of activity, not butterflies in the normal sense but similar, just lower down. Her face stretched into a slow smile.

Another party heard from.

“Felicity?”

“It’s fine,” she promised. “It’s perfectly fine.” 

He sighed, sounding completely exhausted, and she took a moment to really look at him.

“How long have you been in town?”

Oliver ran a hand up over his face. “I came straight to the library when I got in. It took, I don’t know, about two days to drive out.” He focused out the front windshield and waved vaguely into space. “Everything I own is in my car in the library parking lot.”

Felicity couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“I can get a hotel room until I find an apartment,” he went on, “if that’s better.”

She unfroze long enough to put the car in gear and pull out of the parking lot. 

“Felicity?”

“Sorry. It’s just a lot to process.”

“I know,” he agreed softly.

They didn’t see Barry on the way back, which hopefully meant he’d made it in one piece. The sun had come back out after the storm, making the puddles in the parking lot shine, but for now the humidity was gone. Opening the car door was a revelation; it felt like a new day. 

Oliver met her at the back of the car, ready to grab the totes before she got a chance. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled good naturedly, and Felicity smiled in spite of herself. “How much longer are you scheduled today?”

She waited for him to duck out from under the raised hatch of her car before closing it, then walked beside him and his burden of books. “The block party was supposed to go til four, so technically I should probably stick around here another hour, but—“ she waved a hand over her wet clothes and limp hair—“I think I’m gonna call it a day.”

She badged them in through the employee entrance and pointed out where she wanted the totes. They passed Barry, standing in the break room attempting to dry his hair with a handful of paper towels. He gave them a tiny wave.

“I’ll get the rest,” Oliver said softly, turning away for the back entrance. Felicity watched him go with a weird ache in her chest, not ready for him to be out of her sight yet. 

“Hello again.” Cisco had appeared at her shoulder. “You look like a drowned rat. Go home.”

“Are you sure? Barry’s—“

“Barry’s fine,” the man himself insisted, squelching past her in his waterlogged sneakers to take over at the Circulation desk.

Cisco jogged forward to get the door when Oliver’s face appeared in the window. 

“That it?” 

“Yeah. That’s everything.” Oliver straightened from depositing the load and looked straight at her. Letting her know he hadn’t meant ABSOLUTELY everything. 

“Cisco,” she decided, keeping eye contact with Oliver, “I’m gonna head home. See you tomorrow.”

A slow, knowing smile lit her friend’s face. 

“Somehow I doubt it.”

She blushed fiercely as she headed for the door; Oliver fell into step just off her shoulder and she realized how much she’d missed his bulky presence next to her all these months.

“Hang on a second...”

He walked on when she reached her car, lengthening his stride to reach a large, high end SUV that stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. Felicity wondered how she’d missed it until now. She stopped at the back bumper of her own car and watched him retrieve something from the front seat; she looked away before she could see what it was, and when her eyes met his again he was holding it behind his back. 

Her blood ran cold. 

“Oliver—“

“Felicity, let me say this.”

“I don’t think I’m—“

“Please.”

She clamped her mouth shut and waited, though the blood whooshing in her ears made it hard to concentrate. Oh God.

“Felicity Smoak, you found me at the lowest point in my life and rescued me. You made me want to be a better person. Your kindness was a gift. And now you’re giving me another gift, a thing I didn’t even know I wanted. But I do.” He paused to look down at the bump of her belly. “Very much. I hope you do too.”

She swallowed hard, wanting to grab hold of something. Was he about to...? Scenarios had passed through her imagination from time to time over the years, but they’d never gone like this. Her mother hadn’t met him yet. 

Donna didn’t even know she was going to be a grandmother. 

Felicity pictured her mom in a skin tight dress and stilettos holding a baby and thought she might faint. She put a hand against the back of the car to steady herself, only then realizing Oliver was still speaking and she’d missed some of it. 

“...don’t have to decide anything right now.”

He stopped and licked his lips, clearly waiting for a response of some kind. 

Had he asked her a question? Felicity’s eyes flicked up to his in panic. 

“Felicity?”

“I...”

He blinked once. His arms slowly came from behind his back and he held his offering out to her. It was—

A book. 

A picture book, to be precise. She stared at it, trying to make her brain process. It had a dark cover, with a stick figure alien and a little boy standing together on a sliver of moon. 

“The Way Back Home,” she finally managed.

Oliver stood completely still, waiting for her to look back up at him. He looked like he might cry. 

“Felicity, I’m here. To stay. I found my way back home.”

—————————————————————-

Helena Bertinelli glanced down at her GPS one more time before pulling into the alley. It was narrow, and littered with potholes. She negotiated between a light pole and a trash can and then turned into a paved courtyard. She stopped the car in front of a large brick building with double garage doors below and living space above. There was another car already parked there, and off to the side a tiny structure—also brick—that looked like a glorified She Shed. 

She cut the engine and gathered her notepad, her phone, and her thoughts. Her journalism career to this point could only be described as Not as Planned. Her reporting on Central City’s big blizzard had caught the attention of a Minneapolis affiliate, and the subsequent job change had seemed like the next logical step on the road to becoming a big name journalist. 

Somebody should’ve told her their winters were even worse. 

Back she’d come to Central City, chasing an anchor job at her old station that ultimately went to a petite blond without an original thought in her head, a thirty-three year old mother of four who didn’t look a day over twenty and oozed the Midwestern charm stations like Channel Six paid good money for. Helena’s agent—after, she suspected, selling his soul to the devil—finagled her a fantastic deal anyway, and now she covered special interest segments that promised her seven minutes of exclusive air time twice a week for her stories. 

She emerged from a car that was wrapped in the Channel Six logo—tacky, but on the company’s dime—and made sure to lock it. This didn’t seem like the kind of neighborhood where you left things out in the open. Almost at once she realized someone else was now in the courtyard with her. And he was wearing a baby.

“Mr Queen?” She advanced at his nod. “Helena Bertinelli.”

“Hello.” He was devastatingly handsome, what with the blue eyes, the faintly unruly hair, and the beard that was neither sparse nor full; it kind of took her breath away. The baby was facing out in a carrier-thing and stared at her solemnly as Oliver Queen took a step closer and held out his hand. Helena shook and then nodded stiffly at the baby, not sure of infant protocol.

“This is Lucas,” he offered as they disengaged, letting the hand she’d just been holding drift toward the baby so the little tyke could grab his finger. Lucas hummed with pleasure and kicked both legs simultaneously. He was a bit slobbery, but still super-cute. Helena found herself smiling. 

“Thanks for agreeing to an interview. I’m fascinated by your story.”

“Not at all.” He glanced bashfully at the ground in front of him and her temperature spiked. Was this guy for real?

He stopped then, clearly waiting to be asked a question. This one wasn’t going to be a big talker. Great. She tipped her head and tried a flirty smile.

“I was surprised to learn that I’ve interviewed you before. That day in the library, when you were homeless and didn’t know who you were. You got into a fight with a fireman. My cameraman reminded me.” Helena waited for a response but he only nodded once. “You’ve come a long way.”

“It was a long time ago, Miss Bertinelli.”

She caught her lip between her teeth for a second. “Indeed.”

“What would you like to know?” he prompted. “I hate to rush you, but I have an appointment soon.”

“Of course!” It was a beautiful spring day, no reason not to conduct the interview outside. “Tell me about your foundation.”

“My wife and I—“

“Felicity Smoak.”

“Yes. We saw a need in this community that traditional shelters and food pantries weren’t addressing, namely assisting those who choose to be homeless.”

Helena took the risk of letting a frown wrinkle her skin. “You’re saying homelessness is a conscious choice.”

“For some people, yes. I mean, no one’s story is a straight path, is it? Nobody grows up planning to become homeless someday, but there is a segment of the population that find themselves in that position and choose not to live within the existing system. Our focus is to help them live their lives as they see fit.”

“You enable them.”

“Not enable. Accommodate. We don’t evangelize, we don’t try to change their situation, we make ourselves available to help as necessary, no strings attached.” 

“No strings?”

“We don’t ask for names, or track usage beyond getting to know them personally and learning their habits.”

“Your slogan is Stop Helping People. Can you explain that?”

He smiled. “Most assistance in this country is meant to be emergency relief but is given out on a permanent basis. We believe human beings who have the opportunity to contribute to their own relief and recovery take more ownership of their lives and feel less like a simple recipient of aid.” He gestured toward the large brick building beside them. “We don’t have food pantries, we have cooperatives. Participants pay a nominal fee—usually one dollar per every ten items of food—for their groceries. Or they can choose to work in exchange, one hour of labor in the cooperative for every ten items. We work with local gardeners who provide fresh fruit and vegetables, and in exchange our co-op members help plant and harvest, and have a hand in purchasing plants. We’re still in the early stages of that project, but that’s the goal.”

“Interesting concept. Can I get a tour?”

Oliver waved a hand again at the building. “The cooperatives are off-site. Our office space is here—“ his mouth ticked up at the corners and God help her his eyes twinkled—“with my wife’s garage. The second story is an apartment. For our family to use when they visit. But I’d like to show you this.”

He was gesturing to the She Shed.

“Felicity converted it from a garage, before I met her.” He led the way with baby Lucas kicking and burbling along, and held the door open for Helena after stepping inside himself. 

“Wow,” she said softly as she took it all in. The place was tiny, but perfect. 

Dishes were drying in the rack on the counter of a small but well appointed kitchen. A couch sat facing one of those baby pens—Helena couldn’t think of the proper name for it, but made a mental note to ask her nemesis, the painfully perky news anchor with the zillion kids—and behind it stood a wall of books and a ladder to a loft area.

“You have a lot of books,” she noted.

Oliver, animated now and eager to share, stuffed his hands in his pockets and practically bounced on his toes. The baby cooed.

“Believe it or not there were more, but we downsized in order to build the bunk beds.” 

She could see now what he meant; the section of wall on the far side of the doorway held built-in bunks with drawers underneath. Both beds were made up neatly with a stuffed animal on each.

“There’s a bedroom and bath through there.” He pointed it out but didn’t offer to show her.

Helena turned a full circle in slow motion to take it all in. She noticed a framed print on the wall above the baby jail and took a step closer to see that it was actually a children’s book under the glass. 

“And this is...?”

“How I proposed, kinda.” 

Helena shot a look at him, he sounded so sappy. Cleary he was still very much in love. She noticed his dimples and thought what a shame that was.

“So three of you live in this tiny space?”

“Well, actually...”

She looked to where his attention was drawn in time to see the door in the wall of books open and a little girl walk through. She was small and blonde and carried a very serious expression for her size. She was wearing a black leotard and pink tights under a skirt covered in glittery unicorns. 

“There’s four of us,” Oliver finished. The little girl stepped closer to him and slipped her hand inside his. “This is Mia.”

“Hello, Mia.”

The little girl stared at her solemnly before pointedly looking away. 

“My name’s Helena. I’m a reporter for—“

“Channel Six News.” She was looking at her again.

Helena stared back in surprise. “Yes. You’ve seen me on tv?”

The little girl’s forehead crimped into a frown. “No. We don’t watch television. Mama told me you were coming.”

Helena’s eyes flicked to the little girl’s father for confirmation. Did they seriously not watch tv?

“We gave it up in order to have space for the baby’s bed,” he explained with a shrug. 

“How old are you?” Helena tried again with Mia, intrigued by this new development. 

The girl seemed to consider the question, but clearly not because she didn’t know the answer. Her father looked down at her and Helena caught sight of him squeezing her hand gently.

“She’s three,” he offered for her. Mia’s eyes shifted to him briefly before coming to rest directly on the reporter.

“And a half,” she added clearly.

“Well, not quite.”

She glanced up at him again with the tiniest frown, and Helena thought maybe she was non-plussed that her father had contradicted her. 

“And three eighths,” she amended.

Helena blinked in surprise.

“We’re on our way to a dance lesson,” Oliver explained, which accounted for the outfit. At least most of it.

“But first story time at the library,” Mia reminded him, looking at him as if she were the grown up.

“Yes, first story time.”

“With Mama.”

He nodded gently at his daughter and smiled. Helena sensed she was losing his attention to the little girl. Dammit. 

“I thought your wife worked for the mayor’s office.”

“She’s on his Care for the Homeless Commission, but she also insists on keeping a part-time position with the library, and she helps me run the foundation.”

“I’d love to interview her too,” Helena decided. She needed to see for herself the Wonder Woman who could make a man this good looking into a lovesick stay at home dad.

Oliver motioned toward the front door. “After you.”

He was putting his children in their car seats when she thought of one more question.

“You named your organization The Wilson Foundation. Why?”

Oliver straightened up from buckling Mia into her seat with a faraway look in his eyes. “Slade Wilson saved my life once. My wife and I were inspired to create these programs in a way that would honor his memory and give others the freedom to live their lives on their terms.” His mouth drew up into a wry smile as he shut the car door. “Plus he would hate knowing it was named after him. If you know where you’re going we’ll meet you over there.”

—————————————————————

Felicity’s nose scrunched at her husband’s heads-up text and Cisco raised a curious eyebrow. 

“The reporter’s coming here for the rest of the interview.”

“Yikes. I knew we shoulda dug that moat.”

She rolled her eyes in agreement. “It’s not enough that both our mothers will be in town this weekend for Mia’s recital. Now I have to pretend I have my life together for a tv interview.”

Barry paused on his way by the desk with a stack of books in his arms. “You do have your life together, Felicity. You and Oliver make it look like the easiest thing in the world.”

“Which thing would that be?” she asked, genuinely curious. 

He shrugged. “The whole thing.”

She couldn’t agree with him, and was opening her mouth to give him her list of examples why not, but just then the sliding doors activated and her whole world walked into the library.

Mia caught her attention first, holding on to her daddy’s hand until they’d cleared the doors and then skipping forward with a smile that transformed her usually serious face. Felicity rounded the desk to reach for her daughter and swing her up onto her hip before leaning down to kiss Lucas on his mostly bald head. 

“Hey you,” she murmured to the scruffy perfection of her husband. Oliver smiled down at her with a gleam in his eye that said it all.

“How’s it going?” She said it without moving her lips as the leggy reporter came into view behind him and he cocked a knowing eyebrow in reply. “Did you get a chance to talk to your mom?” He didn’t let the sudden change in subject throw him.

He nodded. “I did. They’ll be in Friday night and leave Sunday morning.”

“Perfect. Mom’s flight gets in Saturday morning. 24 hours of overlap shouldn’t kill us, should it?”

Oliver dropped a hand on his wife’s shoulder in a way that said he wasn’t convinced, but Helena was upon them and he couldn’t elaborate.

Mia leaned closer to Felicity’s ear and Toddler Whispered, “Are Auntie Thea and Grandpa Walter coming with Nana?”

“Auntie Thea can’t come this time, honey. She has to study for her finals so she can graduate, but she’ll be out next month, remember? She’s going to be here to help take care of you and your brother all summer before she starts college.” Felicity gave her a light squeeze. “But you’ll see Grandpa Walter this weekend.”

“My mother’s new husband,” Oliver added in an aside to Helena. He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and reintroduced her to the reporter with as little fanfare as possible; there had been several late night discussions about allowing someone inside their family bubble, but in the end they’d agreed the publicity would be good for their foundation. It was the timing that was stressing Felicity out. 

“John’s on his way with the fire truck.” Felicity hefted her daughter a bit higher on her hip as she said it. Oliver asked her silently if she wanted to trade but she waved him off, even as Mia bounced in excitement over the news. 

“I want to see the fire truck!” 

“If he gets here in time you can, but you and Daddy and Lucas have to get to dance class. It’s your last one before your recital on Saturday. Did you bring her costume?” she added to Oliver. 

“It’s in the car,” he promised. 

“What book are we reading today?” Mia placed her hands on either side of her mother’s face to get her attention. 

Felicity swooped in to leave a kiss on her cheek that made her giggle. “Let’s go see, shall we?” 

——————————————————————

Helena stayed through the end of story time, though the arrival of the fire truck caused a mini stampede to the entrance that nearly knocked her off her feet. She waited for the chaos to pass her by and then crossed to stand with Oliver as he watched Felicity take their children outside to say hi to the firemen.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, not sure herself if it was meant to be an interview question.

Oliver gave her a warm smile that she understood was less about her than his reaction to seeing his family happy and healthy. “Every day.”

“And you love it.”

His eyes went faintly misty.

“More than anything.”

——————————————————————

The electronic trill of slot machines begging for attention was beginning to lull Quentin Lance into a stupor. It couldn’t be the alcohol because there hadn’t been any alcohol; he’d given that up a year ago, cold turkey. He’d gone back to seriously working out too, above and beyond the little he needed to pass the yearly physical. His daughters had joked at first that this was a manifestation of a midlife crisis, but later, when the diet stuck and the yoga and weight training started paying off, he caught Sara gazing at him with that tilt to her head that always reminded him of her mother. The Reinvention of Quentin Lance, she’d called it.

And she was right.

He’d never been to Vegas, so when a former partner on the force retired and invited several buddies for a weekend’s celebration he decided to step out of his comfort zone and not only go but also extend his stay by a couple days to sight see beyond the strip. Except now, sitting here sober and alone, he was having second thoughts. 

The blonde next to him uncrossed and recrossed her legs and he couldn’t help noticing. She was beautiful, about his age or a little younger. Not jail bait, anyway, which was refreshing. She saw him looking and glanced over.

“Hi.”

“Good afternoon.” Quentin tipped his highball of seltzer cordially. “Or evening. Who can tell, in this place?”

She smiled in agreement. “You get used to it. Having a screwed up internal clock.”

“You come here a lot?”

“I’ve lived here all my life.” She waved her hand the other direction in a way that made her hair flip over her shoulder in the most fascinating way. “I work at the Bellagio.”

“Your night off then?”

She dunked her straw a couple of times in her drink. “I’m on vacation this week, actually.”

Quentin shifted to face her more directly. “And you chose to spend it here?”

“I’m taking some me time before I head out to visit my daughter’s family this weekend. My granddaughter is in her first dance recital.” She sipped delicately from her straw. “She’s very cute.”

I can imagine, he almost blurted before clamping his back teeth over the words because Geez, what a way to sound creepy. 

“Where does your daughter live?”

“Central City. Have you ever been?”

His smile, he worried, was probably closer to a grimace. “Once. A few years ago.”

“I try to get out there a couple times a year.” She chuckled softly. “Kids grow so fast.”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you from?”

Quentin cleared his throat. “Starling.”

“My son-in-law’s from there. You here on your own?”

He thought of his cop buddies who’d talked such a big game and then disappeared to bed early every night before packing it up to head home this morning. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I am.”

A blue haired old lady hit the jackpot to their left; sirens blared and lights flashed as she celebrated with the man next to her. He was on an oxygen tank. 

“I miss the cash out,” his companion noted quietly, almost to herself. “There was nothing like the sound of all those coins. It made you want to keep trying, you know?”

He didn’t, actually, but he’d seen it in the movies and got what she meant. Her glass was almost empty.

“Buy you another?” he asked, already nodding to the bartender.

“It’s Diet Coke.” She was letting him know she was sober and intending to stay that way.

“Seltzer,” he said in reply, telling her back. She nodded, and the smile widened for a second. Quentin felt his temperature rise in a way it hadn’t in years. “Quentin Lance.”

She slipped her hand into his and let him shake it.

“Donna. Donna Smoak.”

Somewhere behind them another jackpot celebration began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could take credit for the Stop Helping People slogan, but that belongs to a church in my city. The concept of food cooperatives is also not mine, but I think it's a brilliant idea. If you’re interested in learning more, check out the following:  
> https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11869727-toxic-charity  
> https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/83675.Bridges_Out_of_Poverty


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